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OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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ARIEL  AND   CALIBAN 

WITH    OTHER   POEMS 


CHRISTOPHER   PEARSE  CRANCH 


BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN"  AND   COMPANY 
Cfce  Rttersitie  i^ress,  Camliiitige 


Copyright,  18S6, 
Br  CimiSTOrUER  peause  crancil 

AU  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cnmbridga : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  II.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


144- 


C8^?a 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Ariel  and  Caliban 1 

Lionel  and  Lucille       .......  21 

San  Borondon 33 

The  Old  Year 39 

The  Centennial  Year 44 

After  the  Centennial 50 

A  Night-Picture 52 

A  Child-Savior 55 

An  Old  Umbrella 58 

To  lONE 61 

After-Life  ..........  64 

Prince  Yousuf  and  the  Alcaydb.     A  Moorish  Ballad  .  67 

Rosamond 72 

A  Question 74 

My  Studio 76 

Talent  and  Genius 78 

Venice 80 

The  Two  Dreams 83 

At  the  Grave  of  Keats 84 

Broken  Wings 86 

Sea-Pictures 88 

Ars  Longa,  Vita  Brevis 90 

Love's  Voyage 92 

Survival  of  the  Fittest 95 


CONTENTS. 


A  "NVoRD  TO  Philosopheks         .... 

Thk  Coal-Fike 

Two  Views  ok  It       . 

Old  and  Young 

The  Victokies  of  Peace 

ScJiMEK  Dawn 

The  Old  Apple-Woman.     A  Broadway  LjTic    . 

The  Weathek-Pkophet 

Omar  KhayyX-m 

Longfellow       

Ralph  Waldo  Emekson 

Frederick  IIenkv  Hedge.     On  his  SOth  Birthday 
So  Far,  so  Near 


Sonnets. 

I. 

1.  To  E. 

P.  C 

.      13 

II. 

2. 

.  13 

III. 

3. 

.      13 

IV. 

4. 

.  13 

V. 

5. 

.      13 

VI. 

6. 

.  13 

VII. 

7. 

.       13 

VIII. 

s. 

.  V 

IX. 

9. 

U 

X. 

10. 

' 

.  U 

Seven  Wonders  of  the  Would. 

XI. 

Thi 

pRINTINO-Pin.SS       .... 

.       1-1 

XII. 

The 

OCE 

\N  Steamer 

.  1-1 

XIII. 

The 

Locomotive 

u 

XIV. 

The 

Tel 

ecrapii  and  Telephone  . 

.  14 

XV. 

The 

PiK 

rOGKAI'H   ..... 

.       14 

XVI. 

Tim: 

Si'ECTKOSCOI'E      .... 

.  14 

XVII. 

'J'he 

Mi.i 

JOPllONE    ..... 

.       14 

XVIII. 

The 

Fireside 

.  14 

CONTENTS. 


XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 

XLIII. 

XLIV. 

XI.V. 

XLVI. 

XLVII. 

XLVIII. 

XLIX. 

L. 

LI. 


The  Lady's  Sonnet.  Twilight .  .  .  150 
The  Lover's  Sonnet.  Midnight  .  .  .  151 
The  Pines  and  the  Sea    .         .        .        .152 

Pennyroyal 153 

Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony  .        .         .      154 

1.  The  Seceders 155 

2.  "  156 

1.  In  a  Library 157 

2.  ''  158 

Past  Sorrows 159 


Life  and  Death 


6. 

7. 

8. 

To  John  Greenleaf  Whittier 

To  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 

Bayard  Tay'lor    . 

John  Weiss 171 

George  Ripley 172 

To  G.  W.  C 173 


160 
161 
162 
163 
164 
165 
166 
167 
168 
169 
170 


London 

Veiled  Memories 

1.  Tenn\"son 


To  G.  W.  C. 
Gladstone 
1.  To  J.  R.  L. 


1.  The  Human  Flower 


174 
175 
176 

177 
178 

179 
180 
181 

182 


VI  CONTENTS. 

LII,    2.  The  Human  Flower 183 

LIII.     August 184 

LIV.     Idle  Hours 185 

LV.     1.  Music  and  Poetry 186 

LVI.     2.  "  187 

LVII.     To  Sleep 188 

Ormuzd  and  Ahriman.     a  Cantata         ....      189 
A  Poet's  Soliloquy 230 


ARIEL  AND   CALIBAN.* 


I. 


Before  Prospero's  cell.     Moonlight. 
Aeiel. 
So  —  Prospero  is  gone  —  and  I  am  free  — 
Free,  free  at  last.     His  latest  charge  have  I 
Performed  with  duteous  care  ;  have  sent  the  breeze 
To  blow  behind  the  ship  whose  rounded  sails 
Now  bear  him  homeward  ;  and  I  am  alone. 
Yet  I,  who  pined  for  freedom  —  I,  who  served 
This  lordly  mind,  not  of  my  own  free  choice, 
Though  somewhat  out  of  gratitude,  —  for  he 
By  his  strong  sorcery  did  release  me  once 
From  durance  horrible,  —  now,  since  the  touch 

1  To  forestall  suspicion  of  my  having  borrowed  even  any  sugges- 
tion of  the  idea  on  which  tliis  poem  is  founded  from  M.  Kenan's 
"  Caliban''''  —  though  this  has  a  totally  different  conception  from 
my  theme  —  I  may  say  that  I  had  written  the  greater  part  of  my 
poem,  long  before  I  had  heard  of  or  seen  the  brilliant  and  auda- 
cious satire  of  that  distinguished  French  author. 


2  ARIEL  AND   CALIBAN. 

And  sympathy  of  human  souls  have  warmed 

My  cold  electric  blood,  and  I  have  known 

How  sweet  it  were  to  love  and  be  beloved 

Within  the  circle  of  the  elements 

Whose  soulless  life  is  death  to  human  hearts,  — 

I,  here  alone,  now  grieve  to  be  alone, 

No  longer  linked  with  mortal  loves  and  cares. 

For  as  I  flit  about  the  ocean  caves. 

Or  thread  the  mazes  of  the  whispering  pines, 

Or  in  the  flower-bells  dream  long  sunny  days, 

Or  run  upon  the  crested  waves,  or  flash 

At  no  one's  bidding,  but  in  wild  caprice, 

A  trailing  meteor  or  a  thunderbolt,  — 

Or  sing  along  the  breeze  that  hath  no  sense 

Or  soul  of  hearing,  melodies  I  framed 

For  Prospero  and  his  child,  —  I  have  no  will 

To  work  as  once,  when  serving  earned  this  boon 

Of  liberty,  long  sought,  now  tame  and  cheap. 

For  what  to  me  are  all  these  air-fed  sprites 

I  marshalled,  by  his  potent  art  constrained  ? 

Their  bloodless  cold  companionship  can  give 

No  joy  to  me,  now  half  estranged  from  them. 

There  's  Caliban,  't  is  true  —  a  human  beast  — 

Uncouth  enough  to  laugh  at  —  not  so  vile 

Perhaps  as  he  a])pears  — rather  misshajied 

And  thwarted  in  his  growtli.      And  yet  he  seems 

In  this  fair  Isle,  where  noble  souls  have  lived, 

Like  a  dull  worm  that  trails  its  sliine  along 


ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN.  3 

The  full  heart  of  a  rose  ;  and  now  at  last 
Free  from  the  foot  of  Prospero,  all  the  more 
Slave  to  himself,  crawls  feeding  where  he  lists. 

Enter  Caliban  in  the  distance. 
Lo,  here  he  creeps,  and  looks  as  if  he  meant 
To  enter  his  old  master's  cell.     But  no ! 
I  '11  enter  first,  and  there  assume  the  voice 
Of  Prospero.     He  some  sport  at  least  shall  yield. 
Ah,  sometimes  I  must  he  a  merry  sprite. 
If  only  to  beguile  these  lonesome  hours. 

[Vanishes  into  the  cell. 

Caliban. 
So  —  so  —  the  island  's  mine  now.     I  may  make 
My  dweUing  where  I  choose.     Methinks  this  cell 
Might  serve ;  though  somewhat  I  suspect 
Its  walls  are  steeped  in  magic.     And  besides, 
Too  well  my  bones  remember  how  that  lord 
Let  fly  his  spirits  at  me.     How  he  cramped 
My  limbs !     The  devil-fish  o'ertake  his  ship  ! 
He  's  far  away  —  and  I  can  curse  him  now, 
And  no  more  aches  shall  follow.     As  for  him, 
I'on  drunken  fellow  —  and  his  mate  —  good  Lord, 
How  I  was  fooled  to  gulp  his  bragging  lies  ! 
The  man  in  the  moon,  forsooth !     And  yet  he  bore 
Brave  liquor,  though  it  set  my  wits  agog. 
Would  there  were  more  of  it.     Well,  I  '11  make  my  bed 


4  ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN. 

E'en  here,  where  Prosper  slept.     King  of  the  isle  — 
King  Caliban !     But  I  've  no  subjects  yet, 
Save  beasts  of  the  wood,  and  even  over  them 
I  lack  those  strong  old  charms  of  Sycorax. 

\^Enters  the  cell. 

Ariel  (within). 
Halt  there  !     What  man  art  thou  ?     Slave  —  Caliban  ! 

Caliban. 
Ah,  ah !     'T  is  Prospero  back  again  —  Ah  me ! 

Ariel. 
How  dar'st  thou  here  intrude  upon  my  rest  ? 

Caliban. 
Nay  now —  I  cannot  tell  —  I  thought  thee  gone  — 

I  saw  thee  go. 

Ariel. 

Think'st  thou  I  cannot  leap 
Across  the  seas  ?     Think'st  thou  I  cannot  ride 
Upon  the  wind  ?     Know'st  thou  not  Prosper's  might  ? 

Caliban. 
Do  not  torment  me  !     Alas,  alas,  I  thought 
His  book  and  stafE  were  burled  — he  at  sea  ! 
Ah,  here  's  a  coil  —  here  's  slavery  again. 
1  'U  run,  before  the  cramp  gets  to  my  legs.  [Exit. 


ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN. 

Ariel  [advancing). 
Good  riddance !     He  '11  not  venture  here  again. 
Tliis  grot  is  sacred  to  remembered  forms 
'T  were  base  ingratitude  could  I  forget. 
Their  names  make  fragrant  aU  the  place.     They  fill 
The  void  of  life  within  me  more  and  more, 
And  draw  me  closer  to  all  human-kind. 
Much  have  ye  taught  me.     Thou,  O  Prospero, 
Whom  all  too  grudgingly  I  served,  dost  seem 
Now  not  a  master,  but  a  gracious  friend. 
And  she  —  Miranda,  peerless  in  her  bloom 
Of  maidenhood  —  had  I  but  human  been, 
What  tenderer  germs  —  but  no  —  too  late,  too  late 
Those  virtues,  graces  —  this  proud  intellect 
That  made  a  sport  of  magic,  and  renounced 
The  sceptre  of  Wonderland  as  though  it  were 
The  bauble  of  a  child.     Too  late  I  see 
The  topmost  glory  of  the  Duke,  who  shone 
Grandest  abjuring  supernatural  gifts  — 
Most  godlike  in  forgiving  his  base  foes. 

{Pauses  in  deep  thought.) 

There  is  no  life  worth  living  but  that  life 

I  missed,  the  sympathetic  interchange 

Of  mind  with  mind  and  heart  with  heart.     This  world 

Of  air  and  fire  and  water,  where  I  dwell, 

Is  but  a  realm  of  phantasms  —  spectral  flames 

Like  the  pale  streamers  of  the  frozen  North  ; 


6  ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN. 

Is  less  than  half  of  life  —  motion  without 
Life's  warm  reality — a  trance,  a  dream. 
Nay,  even  this  slave  —  this  son  of  Sycorax 
Hath  something  human  in  him.     Might  I  now 
But  find  some  j^assage  to  his  heart,  but  breathe 
Into  his  sluggish  brain  some  finer  breath, 
But  lift  him  to  companionship  of  thought  — 
'T  were  worth  the  trial.     At  least  I  '11  follow  him 
And  wind  about  him  with  an  airy  song. 
He  's  fond  of  music,  for  whene'er  I  sing 
He  listens  open-mouthed.     He  's  not  so  bad 
But  some  ethereal  trap  may  snare  him  yet. 
(Sings.) 
I,  a  spirit  of  the  air, 
Now  may  wander  anywhere 
All  about  the  enchanted  Isle. 
But  no  more  the  master's  smUe 
Greets  me  as  his  door  I  pass  ; 
I  shall  hear  no  more,  alas  ! 
Hear  no  more  the  magic  word 
Of  tlie  seer  who  was  my  lord  — 
Nevermore ! 

Nevermore  my  flying  feet 
Bring  him  music  strange  and  sweet, 
Run  for  him  upon  the  wind. 
While  the  cloven  air  behind 
Meets  with  roar  and  thunder-crack 


ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN. 

In  the  lightning  of  my  track  — 
Nevermore  ! 

Enter  Caliban,  listening. 
Caliban. 
This  might  be  one  of  them.     Full  oft  I  hear 
Their  music  in  the  air.     And  yet  he  lies, 
And  is  a  devil  of  Prospero's,  for  he  hints 
That  Prosper  's  gone :  and  yet  I  heard  his  voice. 
And  yet  that  voice  might  be  a  mimicry. 
Good  Moon,  assist  me.     Tell  me,  friendly  Moon, 
Is  Prospero  gone  ?     Tell  me,  good  Man  i'  the  Moon, 
He  wall  not  pinch  me  again. 

Ariel. 

Nay,  doubt  not,  friend. 
He  's  gone. 

Caliban. 

Now  Setebos  preserve  my  bones  ! 
What  voice  art  thou  ?     For  nothing  can  I  see 
But  stars,  and  moonlight  twinklings  in  the  woods. 
And  black  broad  shadows  of  the  trembling  trees. 
And  here  and  there  a.  fluttering  zigzag  bat. 

Akiel. 
I  hover  in  the  moonbeam  overhead. 

Caliban. 
I  think  I  've  heard  thee  sing  and  talk  before. 
Did  Prosper  leave  thee  here  to  govern  us, 


8  ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN. 

And  sing  us  into  pitfalls  with  thy  lies 

And  lying  songs  ?     And  yet  how  sweet  thou  singest ! 

Come,  show  thyself  —  I  think  thou  'rt  not  a  fiend. 

Ariel. 
I  '11  show  myself  anon.     But  do  not  fear. 
Prosper  is  gone.     A  lonely  spirit  am  I 
Seeking  companionship.     I  'd  talk  with  thee. 

Caliban 
Good  —  an'  thou  talkest  sense,  and  wilt  not  hite 
Or  hunt  me  —  nor  dost  bid  me  bring  thee  logs. 

Ariel. 
I  have  no  need  of  fuel,  nor  of  food 
Nor  dwelling,  nay,  not  even  of  bodily  shape. 
Yet  I  can  take  a  shape  if  so  I  choose. 

Caliban. 
Then  prythee  do.     I  fain  would  see  thee,  friend. 
I  like  it  not,  this  talking  to  the  air. 

Ariel. 
I  '11  humor  thee  if  I  can  be  thy  friend. 
What  shape  shall  I  assume  ? 

Caliban. 

Wliy,  any  shape 
But  Prospero's  —  and  I  '11  shake  thee  by  the  hand, 


ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN.  9 

And  swear  thou  art  as  merry  a  fellow  as  e'er 
I  have  sat  cracking  nuts  with  —  in  my  dreams  — 
For  wide  awake  I  ne'er  encountered  such. 
Nay,  this  seems  like  a  dream.     Perchance  it  is  — 
And  I  asleep,  and  babbling  in  my  sleep  — 
And  Prospero  still  lord  of  all  the  Isle. 

Ariel. 
Nay,  all  is  real.     I  tell  thee  he  has  gone. 
Follow  me  now  to  yonder  cave,  where  laps 
The  sleepy  sea  upon  the  pebbled  shore. 
Smoothing  the  flickering  wrinkles  of  the  moon, 
Who  steeps  her  golden  column  in  the  brine. 
There  will  I  meet  thee  in  a  human  garb. 

Caliban. 
Where'er  you  please,  so  I  but  see  your  face. 
You  are  no  Jack-o'-lantern,  I  believe. 
I  know  thee  not,  but  something  tells  me  true 
That  I  may  trust  thee.     Sing  then.     I  will  follow. 

[Exeunt,  Ariel  singing. 

Song. 
Follow,  follow, 
Down  the  deep  hollow  — 
Down  to  the  moonlit  waves, 
Down  where  the  ocean  caves 
The  full  tides  swallow. 
Follow,  follow ! 


10  ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN. 

From  the  curse,  from  the  blight, 
From  the  thraldom  of  night, 
From  the  dark  to  the  light, 
From  the  slave  to  the  man 
We  wiU  lift  Caliban. 
Farewell,  Hecate  !     Else,  Apollo ! 
Follow,  follow,  follow ! 


II. 


In  a   cave  by  the  sea.     Caliban,  and  Ariel   as  a 
forester,  seated. 

Caliban. 

So  then  it  seems  thou  'rt  one  of  these  who  served 
This  wizard  lord  —  and  he  a  duke  disguised  — 
One  of  his  tricksy  S2)irits.     I  like  not  tliis. 
Why  did'st  thou  serve  him  ? 

Ariel. 

He  delivered  me 
From  torture  by  his  magic.     I  was  bound 
By  gratitude  as  well  as  by  his  spells 
To  wait  upon  him.     Oft  unwillingly 
I  served  him.     But  at  last  I  loved  him  well ; 
Knew  his  soul's  greatness,  honored  what  he  prized, 
Which  yet  was  but  his  minister  —  his  art ; 
Felt  in  my  airy  veins  a  blood-warm  beat, 


ABIEL  AND  CALIBAN.  11 

Till  through  them  double  color  seemed  to  run, 
Like  moonlight  mingled  with  the  rosy  dawn. 

Caliban. 
If  he  was  noble,  why  did  he  enslave  me  ? 
I  never  did  him  wrong,  till  he  by  force 
Took  from  me  this  mine  island  —  pent  me  up 
In  a  vile  prison  —  made  me  toil  and  drudge 
All  day,  and  when  I  lagged,  beset  me  sore 
"With  pinches  and  with  terrors  of  his  art. 

Ariel. 
Thou  nam'st  not  all  he  did.     Was  he  not  kind  ? 
Taught  thee  to  speak  and  reason  —  treated  thee, 
At  worst,  as  he  would  treat  a  faithful  dog, 
(For  little  inore  thou  wast  at  first,)  till  thou 
Did'st  bite  the  hand  that  stroked  and  fed  thee,  yea, 
And  would'st  have  wrought  dishonor  on  his  child. 

Caliban. 
I  know  not.     I  was  never  taught  to  curb 
My  passions,  and  I  lived  a  lonely  life. 
I  wronged  him  ?     Yet  my  punishment  was  hard. 
I  might  have  served  bim,  yet  not  been  a  slave. 
.  It  turned  all  love  to  bate  to  be  bis  slave. 
He  did  not  treat  me  as  be  treated  thee. 

Ariel. 
I  was  his  servant  too.     But  I  perceived 
There  was  a  nearer  tie  'twixt  him  and  me, 


12  ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN. 

For  which  I  learned  to  love  him.     Let  that  pass. 

What  now  behooves  thee  is  to  summon  up 

Thy  human  heart  long  styed  in  ignorance 

And  fear  and  hate  ;  and  since  thou  call'st  thyself 

Lord  of  this  island,  learn  to  be  a  lord 

In  nobler  style,  and  with  a  human  love 

Of  all  tilings  good.     'T  were  little  gain  for  thee 

To  have  thy  freedom,  if  thou  'rt  still  enslaved 

To  baser  powers  within  thee.     What  thou  liadst 

Ere  Prospero  came,  is  thine  to  enjoy  and  own. 

But  own  thyself  —  the  man  within  the  beast ; 

For  man  thou  art,  and  of  the  same  stuff  framed 

As  his  who  owned  thee  —  and  better  than  it  seemed 

Thou  wert,  perchance,  to  one  whose  will  enslaved 

All  human  and  all  elemental  power 

His  magic  could  enforce,  to  overjiay 

For  a  few  brief  years  the  dukedom  he  had  lost. 

Learn  now  to  prize  thy  freedom  in  a  field 

Where  thou  may'st  work  for  good  and  not  for  harm. 

Curse  not,  but  bless.      If  I  do  chance  to  talk 

Above  thy  head,  I  '11  dwarf  my  thought  to  thine  ; 

Or  meet  thee  again  when  thou  upon  my  words 

Hast  pondered.  .  .  .  Now,  by  Apollo's  shaft,  I  think 

The  moon-calf  is  asleep  !     I  '11  vanish  then, 

[Exit  Akiel. 


ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN.  13 

m. 

Sunrise. 

Caliban  {waking). 

What,  is  he  gone  !     Or  is  it  another  dream  ? 

It  is  my  fate,  I  think,  stUl  to  be  duped 

With  visions  and  with  shows.     Perhaps  now  he 

Was   the  man  in  the  moon  —     Perhaps  we  '11  meet 

again. 
He  may  have  said  the  truth.     And  yet,  somehow, 
I  dropped  asleep  as  when  I  hear  the  wind 
Sing  in  the  pines,  or  listen  to  the  fall 
Of  streams  in  drowsy  summer  afternoons. 
I  do  begin  to  love  this  spirit  —  albeit 
He  spoke  in  praise  of  Prosper.     Prosper  ?  —  well  — 
It  may  be  that  I  knew  him  not  —  who  knows  ? 
I  am  glad  he  has  sailed  away  though.     Setebos ! 
What  —  sunrise  !     Did  I  sleep  so  long  ?     In  faith 
I  know  it,  for  I  'm  hungry.     I  will  dig 
Some  mussels  from  the  sand,  and  pick  some  fruits. 
I  'm  not  a  cub,  it  seems  —  said  he  not  so  ?  — 
But  made  for  better  things  ;  no  slave  —  a  man 
Fit  to  be  talked  with,  and  not  called  vile  names  — 
Made  of  the  same  stuff  with  that  Prospero  — 
Ah  ha !  good  stuff,  do  you  see  ?  —  the  very  same  — 
Only  a  little  soiled.     We  'U  see  —  we  '11  see. 


14  ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN. 

(Akeel  sings  in  the  distance. ) 
The  golden  sun  the  clouds  hath  kissed 

And  fires  the  hilltops  grim  and  old. 
And  down  the  valley  melts  the  mist 

And  turns  the  earth  to  gold. 

The  lordly  soul  is  lord  of  all. 

The  heart  that  loves  its  human-kind, 
Where'er  its  warming  sunbeams  fall, 

Leaves  night  and  death  behind. 

Caliban. 
Fine  sprite,  I  hear  you :  think  I  love  you  too. 
I  '11  f oUow  you  —  though  what  you  said  to  me 
Is  hard  to  understand.     1 11  hear  you  talk 
Again  ;  but  first  of  all  must  eat  and  drink. 
Made  of  the  same  stuff  with  that  Prosjiero  ? 
No  beast  —  no  slave  !  well  —  this  is  sometliing  new. 


IV. 

A  pine  grove  by  the  sea.     Ariel  as  a  forester. 

Ariel. 
Free,  free  at  last !     Yet  bound  by  a  chain  whose  links 
Are  the  heart's  memories.     Free  to  roam  unchecked, 
Untasked.      Free  as  these  glancing'  dancing  waves, 
This  summer  wind.     But  by  an  inward  need 


ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN.  15 

Of  action,  and  by  late-born  sympathies 
With  human  life,  bound  not  the  less  to  serve ;  — 
Though  for  the  present  I  must  waste  my  art 
Upon  tills  son  of  Sycorax.     Yet  I  have  seen 
A  kindlier  sight  flasli  in  his  brutish  eyes, 
And  in  his  harsh  voice  heard  a  tenderer  tone. 
I  think  he  almost  loves  nie.     But  alas. 
What  room  for  human  fellowshi}),  what  hope 
To  evolve  the  obstructed  and  distorted  gei-m 
Of  manhood  here,  in  idle  solitude 
Haunted  by  soulless  elves  and  sprites  —  a  land 
By  human  hearts  and  human  intellects 
Untenanted  ?     Around  us  Nature  smiles 
In  indolent  repose  —  too  beautiful, 
Too  soft  —  a  land  of  dull  lethargic  ease, 
Steeped  in  the  oblivion  of  the  sleepy  South. 

(Pauses  in  thought.) 
I  know  another  island  —  where  the  North 
Blows  with  a  fresher  wind  ;  —  where  jmlses  bound 
Electric  to  assured  results  of  thought. 
Its  fertile  plains,  its  rocky  coasts  and  hills 
Are  peopled  with  a  vigorous  race.     Its  ports, 
Forests  of  masts  ;  its  fields  by  labor  tilled  ; 
Its  gi'owing  towns  and  cities  from  afar 
Flash  in  the  morning  of  a  crystal  sky, 
And  stud  its  winding  streams  like  jewels  strung 
On  silver  threads  :  —  a  people  brave  and  strong. 
Yet  peaceful,  and  advancing  in  all  arts, 


16  ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN. 

Science  and  culture,  by  wise  freedom  nursed. 
Oft  in  my  master's  errands  flying  north 
I  have  seen  it  far  across  the  wrinkling  waves, 
Facing  the  sunrise  like  a  golden  cloud, 
And  heard  the  humming  of  its  alien  marts. 
And  thither  we  might  saU  —  I  and  this  slave 
That  was  —  not  long  a  slave  when  he  has  known 
Contact  with  men  of  a  superior  mould 
In  bonds  of  law  and  human  brotherhood. 

Caliban  {who  has  been  approaching  unjjerceived). 

Good  brother  Ariel,  you  are  lost  in  thought. 
I  know  't  is  about  sometliing  wise  and  good. 
Come  —  don't  be  glum.     A  penny  for  your  thoughts. 

Akiel. 
How  like  you  this  fair  island,  CaHban  ? 

Caleb  AN. 

Oh,  well  enough  —  not  having  known  a  better. 
And  yet 't  is  lonely  here  —  a  prison  still, 
Although  our  jailer  's  gone.     And  I  would  fain 
See  some  new  faces  —  not  Italian  dukes 
Or  jesters  —  I  have  had  enough  of  them  — 
But  like  your  own,  whene'er  you  let  yom'self 
Be  seen,  and  condescend  to  talk  with  me. 


f 


AltlEL  AND  CALIBAN.  17 

Abiel. 
What  think  you  of  a  voyage  from  this  shore 
To  another  island  ?  —  better  far  than  this, 
I  needs  must  think  ;  a  place  where  men  have  built 
Great  cities,  tilled  broad  fields,  and  sail  huge  ships  — 
A  home  for  you  and  me  more  fit  than  this  ; 
For  I  'm  becoming  human  very  fast, 
WhUe  you  will  need  ere  long  some  earthlier  friend. 

Caliban. 

Well  —  on  the  whole  I  'm  tired  of  this  dull  life, 

And  don't  object  to  see  some  other  lands  : 

But  how  do  you  propose  to  sail  away 

Without  a  ship  ? 

Abiel. 

We  '11  see.     Trust  me  for  that. 
One  task  the  more  my  magic  shall  acliieve. 
We  'U  build  a  boat.     Your  toil  shall  not  be  great. 
Yet  your  old  task  you  must  resume  awhile, 
And  bring  me  a  few  logs. 

Caliban. 

Most  willingly 
For  you,  good  Ariel.     But  for  Prospero  — 
Thank  Heaven,  I  've  carried  my  last  load  for  him ! 

(They  retire,  talking  together.) 


18  ARIEL  AND  CALIBAN. 


V. 


Sunset.    Akeel  and  Caliban  in  a  sail-boat  are  leaving 
the  island. 

Akiel  sings. 
I  have  built  me  a  magical  sliip  ; 

Its  sails  of  the  air  were  wrought. 
From  the  land  of  symbol  and  dream  we  slip 

To  the  land  of  deed  and  thought : 
To  a  clime  where  the  north  and  south 

Have  mingled  their  noble  seed  ; 
And  the  glance  of  the  eye  and  the  word  of  the  mouth 

Are  one  with  the  honest  deed. 
We  sail,  away,  away  ! 

To  a  land  where  the  brain  of  man 

Works  magic  as  strange  as  this  ; 
And  the  heart  of  the  future  builds  a  plan 

As  deep  as  the  soul's  abyss. 
We  need  not  the  tide  nor  the  gale, 

Nor  the  sun  nor  the  moon  with  their  beams, 
For  our  boat  has  a  magical  rudder  and  sail 

That  were  wrought  in  tlie  island  of  dreams. 
Away,  away,  away ! 


U  ENVOI.  19 

( Voices,  echoing  from  the  island. ) 
In  the  island  of  dreams  we  stay. 
We  echo  youi-  parting  lay. 
Speed  on  by  night  and  day  ! 
Speed  on  !  away,  away ! 

(Caliban  sleeps. ) 

AKIEIi. 

Sleep  on  !     We  leave  the  past.     The  night  enshrouds 
The  enchanted  isle.     And  wake  thou  when  the  sun 
Shines  on  another  clime  —  and  shines  in  thee 
With  the  new  light  which  thou  hast  never  seen. 


L'ENVOI. 

Pardon,  great  Poet,  should  I  seem  to  mar 
One  mystery  of  thy  sujiernatural  tale  ; 

Or  with  unreverent  eye  to  scan  the  star 

Whose  sjjlendor  makes  his  satellites  so  pale ! 

If  in  my  play  and  privacy  of  thought, 
Led  by  thy  light,  I  lingered  for  a  while 

Amid  the  scenes  thy  master-hand  had  wrought. 
And,  hovering  over  thy  deserted  isle, 
Dared  to  invoke  thy  sprites  without  command 
To  come  unmarshalled  by  thy  mystic  wand  — 
If  on  the  margin  of  thy  immortal  page 
I  scrawled  a  sketch  unfit  to  grace  thy  stage, 
'T  was  but  the  joy  of  dwelling  there  with  thee 
Near  tbat  enchanted  sea. 


20  L'ENVOI. 

'T  was  but  the  wondering  question  of  a  child. 
To  know  what  may  have  chanced  beyond  the  wild 
Fantastic  dream,  from  which  too  soon  he  woke 
To  common  daylight  and  life's  weary  yoke. 
Pardon  I  crave  once  more,  O  mighty  seer ! 

I  bow  before  thee  here 

With  reverent  love  and  awe. 
And  say  —  "I  only  sported  with  his  thought, 
While  in  its  golden  meshes  gladly  caught, 
I  dreamed  and  fancied.     He  awoke  and  saw  !  " 


LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE. 


In  the  beautiful  Castleton  Island  a  mansion  of  lordly 
style, 

Embowered  in  gardens  and  lawns,  looks  over  the  glim- 
mering bay. 

In  the  light  of  a  morning  in  summer,  with  stately  beauty 
and  pride, 

Its  turrets  and  glittering  roof  flash  down  from  the  hills 
like  a  star. 

There,  pillowed  in  woods,  it  bhnks  on  the  dusty  village 
below ; 

And  ere  it  settles  itself  to  its  rest  in  the  ambered  dusk, 

Its  windows  blaze  from  afar  in  the  gold  of  the  setting 
sun. 

There  in  a  curtained  alcove  facing  a  lawn  to  the  south, 
Lucille  one  morning  in  early  spring  was  sitting  alone. 
Now  in  a  novel   she   read,    and  now  at  her  broidery 

stitched  ; 
And  now,  throwing  both  aside,  at  her  piano  warbled  and 

trilled. 


22  LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE. 

Then  on  a  balcony  leaning,  she  wished  that  the  weeks 

would  pass, 
For  she  with  her  mother  to  Europe  was    going.     Her 

father  had  died 
And  left  her  an  heiress ;  and  lovers   like  moths  came 

fluttering  round, 
Dazzled  with  visions  of  gold,  and  half  believing  them 

love,  — 
All  but  one,  who  was  poor,  and  loved  her,  but  not  for 

her  wealth. 
Three  months  had  Lionel  known  her  —  but  never  had 

told  her  his  love. 
How  could   he  ask   her  to  wed   him,  the  scholar  who 

drudged  for  his  bread  ? 
Even  were  his  offers  accepted,  (and  little  his  chances,  he 

thought,) 
What  would  they  say  in  the  city  ?     "  He  has  picked  up 

a  fortune,  it  seems  : 
A  shrewd  lucky  fellow  !  "     So  proudly  he  kept  his  fond 

thoughts  to  himself. 
Seldom  he  saw  her  alone.     In  a  circle  of  fashion  she 

moved. 
Whenever  he  called,  there  were  carriages  waiting,  with 

liveries  fine  — 
Visitors  going  and  coming,  with  shallow  and  gossiping 

talk. 
Those  who  knew  him  would   surely  have    said,    "  'T  is 

strange  he  should  love 


LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE.  23 

A  gfirl  of  such  frivolous  tastes."     But  such  are  the  ways 

of  the  heart  — 
Ever  a  riddle  too  deep  for  the  crude  common-sense  of 

the  world. 

To-day  no  visitors  came,  and  Lucille  was  deep  in  her 

book  — 
(A  tale  of  romantic  affection  far  back   in  the  Orient 

days)  — 
When  a  ring  at  the  door  was  heard,  and  —  Lionel  stood 

in  the  hall. 
He  had  heard  she  was  going  to  Europe.     He  would  n't 

yet  bid  her  good-bye, 
For  he  hoped  he  might  see  her  again  ere  fate  put  an 

ocean  between. 
Something   more    earnest   than   usual   she   felt  was   in 

Lionel's  face  ; 
Something  more  tender  and  deep  in  the  tones  of  his 

tremulous  voice, 
Though  half  hidden  in  jest  too  grave  and  intense  for  a 

smile. 
She,  brimming  o'er  with  her  poets,  and  fresh  from  her 

bath  of  romance. 
Clothed  the  season,  and  him,  and  herself,  in  an  opaline 

light. 
Softer  her  tones,  and  her  words  less  tinged  with  fashion 

and  form. 
Cordially  lighted  like  bii'ds  on  the  ground  of  his  intimate 

thoughts. 


24  LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE. 

And  as  he  left  her,  to  stroll  on  the  hills  of  the  beautiful 

island, 
Hope  with  her  roseate  colors  enveloped  the  earth  and 

the  sky. 

'T  was  one  of  those  April  days  when  the  lingering  "Winter 
stands 

Waving  his  breezy  scarfs  from  the  north  for  a  last  good- 
bye ; 

When  the  delicate  wind-flowers  peep  from  the  matting 
and  moss  of  the  woods, 

And  the  blue  Hepatica  lurks  in  the  shadowy  dells  of  the 
fern ; 

When  the  beautiful  nun,  the  Arbutus,  down  in  her  clois- 
ters brown, 

Creeps  through  her  corridors  damp  in  the  dead  old  leaves 
of  the  past. 

Whispering  with  fragrant  breath  to  the  bold  tilings  dan- 
cing above : 

*'  TeU  me,  has  Winter  gone  ?  May  I  peep  —  just  peep, 
at  the  world  ?  "  — 

When  the  spaces  of  sky  are  bluer,  with  white  clouds 
hurrying  fast. 

Blurring  the  sun  for  a  moment,  then  letting  him  flash 
on  the  fields, 

While  tlie  shadows  are  miles  in  breadth,  and  travel  as 
swift  as  the  wind 

Over  the  sparkling  cities  afar  and  the  roughening  bay  ;  — 


LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE.  25 

Wlien  the  pine-groves  sigh  and  sing  as  the  wind  sweeps 
under  and  through 

The  cheerful  gloom  of  their  spicy  shade ;  and  the  wil- 
lows lithe 

Bend  and  wave  with  the  tender  green  of  their  trailing 
houghs ; — 

When  the  furry  catkins  drop  from  the  silvery  poplar  tree ; 

When  the  bare,  gray  bushes  are  tipped  with  the  light  of 
their  new-born  leaves, 

And  the  petted  hyacinths  sprout  and  curl  their  parasite 
lips 

Under  the  sunlit,  sheltering  sides  of  the  palace  walls, 

And  seem  to  scoff  at  the  violets  hidden  deep  in  the  grass, 

And  the  common,  yellow  face  of  the  dandelion's  star. 

As  it  peeps  like  a  poor  man's  cliild  through  the  rails  of 
the  garden  fence. 

Then,  as  Lionel  entered  the  crowd  and  the  city  again. 
Lighter  his  labors  appeared  in  his  office,  wall-shadowed 

and  dusk. 
Dreams  of  the  island  and  woods  swejit  over  liis  figures 

and  books : 
Visions  of  love  in  a  cottage,  with  fashion  and  splendor 

forgotten. 
Changeable  April  had  shown  but  its  sunniest  side  to  his 

heart- 
Once  more, —  twice,  to  the  island  he  went :  and  Lionel 

hoped 


26  LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE. 

A  tenderer  feeling  for  him  had  dawned  in  the  heart  of 

Lucille. 
Ever  with  friendlier  greeting  she  met  him :  for  she  in 

her  mind 
Had  dressed  up  a  hero  of  fiction  ;   and  Lionel  —  could 

it  be  he  ? 
Was  not  his  name  of  itself  a  romance  ?     Then  his  face 

and  his  form, 
Voice  and  manners  and  culture,  were  just  what  her  hero's 

should  be. 
So  with  the  glamour  of  life  unreal  she  saw  him ;  and 

yet  — 
Was  it  love?     She  thought  so,  perhaps.     At  least  she 

would  dream  out  her  dream  : 
This  was  a  real  live  novel  —  and  worth  reading  through, 

was  it  not  ? 


One  day,  when  the  bushes  were  white  in  the  lanes,  and 

the  bees  were  astir 
In  the  blooms  of  the  apple-trees,  and  the  green  woods 

ringing  with  birds, 
Lionel  asked  Lucille  to  walk  with  him  over  the  heights 
Looking  far  down  on  the  Narrows  and  out  on  the  dim 

blue  sea. 
So  through  the  forest  they  strolled.     They  stopped  here 

and  there  for  a  flower. 
Then  sat  to  rest  on  a  rock.     An   oak-tree   over   their 

heads 


LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE.  27 

Stretched  abroad  its  flickering  lights  and  shadows.     The 

birds 
Sang  in  the  woodlands  around  them.     The  spot  seemed 

made  for  romance. 
And  Lionel  drew  from  his  pocket  a  book  that  had  lately- 
appeared, 
A  volume  of  lovers'  verse  by  a  poet  over  the  seas, 
And  read  aloud  from  its  pages.     Lucille  sat  twisting  a 

wreath, 
Laurel   and   white -thorn   blossoms   that   half   dropped 

away  as  she  twined  them  ;  — 
Paused  now  and  then  to  listen ;   and  as  he  was  closing 

the  book, 
Laid  a  wild  flower  between  the  leaves  to  remember  the 

place  — 
And  playfuUy  placed  her  wreath  on  his  head,  as  if  he 

were  the  poet. 
Silent  and  musing  they  sat,  as  they  turned  to  look  at  the 

sea, 
Watching  the  smoke   of  the  steamers  and  white    sails 

skimming  afar. 
And  Lionel  said,  "  Ah,  soon  you  too  will  be  steaming 

away 
Down  the  blue  Narrows  ;  and  I  —  shall  miss  you  —  more 

than  you  know." 
"  Why  should  you  miss  me  ?  "  she  said.     "  So  seldom 

you  visit  our  house." 
"  Had  I  but  followed  my  wishes ;  —  but    you  like  the 

lady  appeared. 


28  LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE. 

Shut  in  the  circle   of  Comus.     How  hard  to  enter  your 

ring !  " 
"  What  should  prevent  you  from  coming  ?     How  often  I 

wished  you  would  come  ! 
Nobody  calls  that  I  care   for :  our   island    is    growing 

so  dull." 
"Yes — and  you  long  for  a  change — and   so  you  are 

going  to  Europe. 
There  in  a  whirl  of  delights,  with  fashion  and  wealth  at 

command, 
Soon  you  '11  forget  your  poor  island,  and  all  the  admirers 

you  knew." 
"No  "  — she    whispered  —  "  not    all  "  — and   blushed, 

with  her  head  turned  away, 
Looked  down  and  murmured  :   "  You  think  I  am  wedded 

to  fashion  and  wealth : 
Yet  often  I  long  for  the  simpler  manners  the  poets  have 

sung, 
The  grand  old  days  when   souls  were   prized  for  their 

natural  worth. 
You  think   I  can   rise  to  no  feelings  and  thoughts  of  a 

serious  life  — 
Can  value  no  mind  and  no  heart  but  —  such  as  you  meet 

at  our  house. 
I  care  not  for  such  —  I  fancied  you  knew  me  far  better 

than  that." 
*'  Lucille  "  —  he  never   had    called    her    Lucille,  but  the 

name  came  unbidden  ; 


LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE.  29 

"  Lucille,  could  you  love  a  poor  toiler  who  dared  not  to 

offer  his  heart 
And  his  hand  —  and    in    silence   had    loved    you,    and 

wished  you  were  poor  for  his  sake, 
So  fortunes  were  equal  ?  "   And  she,  still  floating  in  rosy 

romance, 
Murmured,  "  I  could,"  mth  a  look  that  melted  the  walls 

of  reserve 
And  mingled  two  souls  into  one.     Then,  turning  away 

from  the  sea, 
The  sea  that  so  soon  must  divide   them,  they  pledged   to 

each  other  their  troth. 
And  Lionel  saw  not  the  fates  that  were  frowning  afar 

o'er  the  waves  ; 
For  the  world  wore  the  color    of  dreams,  as  homeward 

they  wended  their  way. 

Bright  were  the  meetings  that   followed  —  and  yet    with 

a  shadowy  touch 
On  Lionel's  hopes,  as  if  in  the  changeable  April  days 
He  still  were  roaming  the  hills,  and  still  looked  over  the 

bay 
Where   cloud  and   sunshine  were  flying,    with  doubtful 

promise  of  spring. 
LucUle  had  a  reason,  it   seemed,   to  keep  their  betrothal 

untold. 
The  day  was  so  near  of  their  parting.     She  feared  what 

her  mother  might  say. 


30  LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE. 

'T  were  best  they  should  part  but  as  friends.    They  would 

write  to  each  other  the  same  — 
And  they  would  be  true  to  each  other  —  and  all  would 

be  clear  before  long. 
And  Lionel  yielded,  and  pondered.     And  so  they  parted 

at  last. 

in. 

The  summer  had  hardly  beg^n  when  a  letter  from  Eng- 
land came, 

Full  of  the  voyage  and  landing  —  but  little  of  what  he 
had  hoped. 

Too  light,  too  glancing  it  seemed  for  a  first  love-letter 
from  one 

Far  over  the  sea,  who  had  said  he  should  ever  be  first 
in  her  thoughts. 

Bright  and  witty  it  fluttered  from  topic  to  topic  —  but 
never 

Paused  with  a  tremulous  wing  to  dwell  on  the  love  she 

had  left- 
Something  there  was  in  its  tone  that  said  "  I  am  happy 
without  you  :  " 

Something  too  little  regretful  —  too  full  of  her  glittering 
life. 

And  as  one  gathers  a  beautiful  flower  ne'er  gathered  be- 
fore. 

Hoping  a  fragrance  he  misses,  and  yet  half  imagines  he 
finds  — 


LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE.  31 

Wooing  the  depths  of  its  color  too  rich  for  no  perfume 

to  match  — 
So  seemed  her  letter  to  him,  as  he  read  the  lines   over 

and  over. 
Yet  when  Lionel  answered,  he  breathed  not  a  word  of 

the  thought, 
Shading  the  glowing  disc  of  his  love  with  distant  surmise. 
"  Soon,"  he  said,  "  will  the  novelty  cease  of  this   foreign 

excitement. 
Then  she  will  think  sometimes  of  me  as  the  sun  goes 

down 
Over  the  western  waves  —  and  tenderer  tones  wUl  flow, 
And  mingle  with  warmer  words  in  her  letters  from  over 

the  sea." 
Yet  when  another  letter  came,  it  brought  her  no   nearer. 
Less  of  herself,  and  more  of  the  colors  that  tinted  her  life. 
And  Lionel  wrote  with  passionate  words  :    "  Only  tell 

me,  Lucille, 
Tell  me  you  love  me  —  but  one   brief  line  —  and  I  will 

not  complain." 
Restless,  troubled,  one  day   he  passed  her  house  on  the 

island  ; 
Shut  to  the  sun  and  the  breeze,  it  blinked  on  the  village 

below. 
Over  the  balcony  leaned  a  purple  Wisteria  vine, 
(Blooming,  but  not  in  its  season,  as  oft  't  is  their  habit  to 

do,) 
Trailing  its  ladylike  flounces  from  window  and  carved 

balustrade, 


32  LIONEL  AND  LUCILLE. 

And  dropping  its  blossoms  as  brief  as  love.     And  Lione 
muttered : 

"  She  too  over  that  balcony  leaned  one  day  as  I  passed  — 

Leaned  like  a  flowery  vine ;  and  smiled  as  I  passed  be 
low, 

And  waved  me  an  airy  kiss,   with  a  pose   of   her  beau- 
tiful form. 

Can  love  that  promised  so  truly  be   frail  as  these  clus- 
ters of  June  ?  " 

Month  after  month   now   passed.     Though  he  wrote  as 

fondly  as  ever. 
Brief  were  her  answers,  and  longer  between  —  tUl  they 

finally  ceased. 
A  year  from   the  day  when  they  parted,  a  letter  from 

Paris  arrived, 
Short  and  constrained.     It  said  :   "  I  fear  I  have  made 

you  unhappy. 
We  have  read  too  much  of  the  poets.     Our  troth  was  a 

thing  of  romance. 
My  mother  forbids  it,  it  seems.  There  are  reasons  't  were 

painful  to  tell. 
I  'm  sure  you  would  find  me  unfitted  —  and  I  am  not 

worth  your  regretting. 
Adieu  —  and  be  happy.      Lucille." 

Next  montli  in  the  ])apers  he  saw 
She  had  married  a  Count  —  some  Pole   with  an   unpro- 
nounceable name. 


SAN  BORONDON. 

Saixt  Brandan,  a  Scotch  abbot,  long  ago 
Sailed  southward  with  a  swarm  of  monks,  to  sow 
The  seeds  of  true  religion  —  notliing  else  — 
Among  the  tribes  of  naked  infidels. 
And  venturing  far  in  unknown  seas,  he  found 
An  island,  which  became  monastic  ground. 
So  runs  the  legend.     Little  else  was  known 
Of  him  we  Spaniards  call  San  Borondon. 
Some  said  he  was  a  sorcerer,  some  a  priest  ; 
None  truly  knew.     But  this  is  clear  at  least. 
That  there  was  seen  to  appear  and  disappear 
An  island  in  the  west,  for  many  a  year, 
That  bore  his  name :  but  no  discoverer  yet 
His  feet  upon  that  shore  had  ever  set. 

At  Teneriffe  and  Palma  I  was  one 

Who  saw  that  island  of  San  Borondon. 

A  hundred  of  us  stood  upon  the  shore. 

And  saw  it  as  it  oft  was  seen  before. 

The  morn  was  clear  ;  and  westward  from  the  bay 

It  glimmei'ed  on  the  horizon  far  away. 


34  SAN  BORONDON. 

We  watched  the  fog  at  sunrise  upward  curl 

And  float  above  that  land  of  rose  and  pearl ; 

And  sometimes  saw  behind  a  purple  peak 

The  sun  go  down.     And  some  said,  "  We  will  seek 

Westward,  until  we  touch  the  fairy  coast, 

Or  prove  it  only  some  drowned  island's  ghost"  — 

But  after  many  days  returned  to  swear 

The  vision  vanished  in  the  pale  blue  air. 

Yet  still  from  off  the  fair  Canary  beach 

Lay  the  strange  land  that  none  could  ever  reach. 

Then  others  sailed  and  searched :  and  some  of  these 

Returned  no  more  across  the  treacherous  seas  ; 

And  no  one  knew  their  fate.     Until  at  last 

We  hailed  a  caravel  wath  shattered  mast 

Toiling  to  harbor.     Half  her  sails  were  gone. 

"  Ho,  mariners,  what  news  of  Borondon  ?  " 

We  shouted  —  but  no  answering  voice  replied  ; 

No  sailors  on  her  gangway  we  descried  ; 

Her  shrouds  looked  ghostly  thin,  her  ropes  were  dim 

As  spiders'  webs  athwart  a  tree's  dead  limb ; 

And  still  as  death  she  drifted  up  the  bay, 

A  battered  hulk  grown  dumb  and  old  and  gi'ay. 

At  length  she  touched  the  strand,  and  out  there  crept 

A  haggard  man,  who  feebly  toward  us  stepped. 

And  answered  slowly,  while  we  bi-ought  him  food 

And  wine.      He  sitting  on  a  stone,  we  stood 

An  eager  crowd  around  him,  while  we  sought 

What  news  he  from  San  Borondon  had  brought. 


SAN  BORONDON.  35 

With  eyes  that  seemed  to  gaze  beyond  the  space 
Of  sea  and  sky  —  with  strange  averted  face, 
And  voice  as  when  some  muttering  undertone 
Of  wind  is  heard,  when  sitting  all  alone 
On  wintry  nights,  we  see  the  moon  grow  pale 
With  hurrying  mists  —  he  thus  began  his  tale. 

'*  We  saw  the  island  as  we  sailed  away. 

It  glimmered  on  the  horizon  half  that  day. 

But  while  our  caravel  still  westward  steered, 

Amazed  we  stood  —  the  isle  had  disappeared. 

At  night  there  came  a  storm.     The  lightning  flashed 

From  north  to  south.     The  frightful  thunder  crashed. 

Under  bare  poles  we  scudded  through  the  dark. 

Till  morning  gleamed  upon  our  drifting  bark  — 

The  red-eyed  morn  'neath  beetling  brows  of  cloud,  — 

And  the  wind  changed.     Then  some  one  cried  aloud, 

'  Land  —  at  the  westward  I '     And  with  one  accord 

All  took  contagion  of  that  haunting  word 

*  San  Borondon.'     The  island  seemed  to  lie 

Three  leagues  away  against  a  strip  of  sky 

That  on  the  horizon  opened  like  a  crack 

Of  yellow  light  beneath  the  vault  of  black  ; 

Then,  as  with  hearts  elate,  we  nearer  sailed, 

The  clouds  dispersed,  the  sun  arose  unveUed. 

The  wind  had  almost  lulled  ;  the  waves  grew  calm. 

We  neared  the  isle,  we  saw  the  groves  of  palm, 

The  rugged  cliffs,  the  streamlet's  silver  thread 


36  SAN  BORONDON. 

Dropped  from  the  misty  mountains  overhead  ; 

The  shadow-haunted  gorges  damp  and  deep ; 

The  flowery  meadows  in  their  dewy  sleep  ; 

The  waving  grass  along  the  winding  rills  ; 

And,  inland  far,  long  slopes  of  wooded  hills. 

And  all  the  sea  was  calm  for  many  a  mile 

About  the  shores  of  that  enchanted  isle. 

Our  sails  half-fiUed  flapped  idly  on  the  mast ; 

And  all  the  morning  and  the  noon  had  passed 

Before  we  touched  the  shore.     Then  on  the  sand 

We  stepped  and  took  possession  of  the  land 

For  Spain.     No  signs  of  life  we  heard  or  saw. 

But  suddenly  we  stopped  with  fear  and  awe ; 

For  on  the  beach  were  giant  footsteps  seen, 

And  upward  tracked  into  the  forests  green. 

Then  lost.     But  there,  with  wondering  eyes  we  found 

A  cross  nailed  to  a  tree  —  and  on  the  ground 

Stones  ranged  in  mystic  order  —  and  the  trace 

Of  fire  once  kindled  in  that  lonely  place. 

As  though  some  sorcerer's  sabbath  on  this  ground 

A  place  for  its  unholy  rites  had  found. 

And  so,  in  vague  perplexity  and  doubt, 

Until  the  sun  had  set,  we  roamed  about. 

And  some  into  the  forest  far  had  strayed, 

While  others  watched  the  ship  at  anchor  laid. 

When  through  the  woods  there  rang  a  distant  bell. 

We  crossed  our  breasts,  and  on  our  knees  we  fell. 

Ave  Maria  —  't  was  the  hour  of  prayer. 


SAN  BORONDON.  37 

A  consecrated  stillness  filled  the  air. 

No  heathen  land  was  this ;  no  wizard's  spell 

The  clear  sweet  ringing  of  that  holy  hell. 

Scarce  had  we  sjjoken,  when  we  heard  a  blast 

Come  rushing  from  the  mountains,  fierce  and  fast 

Down  a  ravine  with  hoarse  and  hollow  roar ; 

And  sudden  darkness  fell  upon  the  shore. 

'  The  sliij)  —  the  ship  !    See  how  she  strains  her  rope  — 

All,  all  aboard  —  cast  off  !  we  may  not  hojje 

To  save  her  on  these  rocks.     Away,  away  ! ' 

Then  as  we  leapt  aboard  in  tossing  spray, 

Still  fiercer  blew  the  wind,  and  hurled  us  far 

Into  the  night  without  a  moon  or  star. 

And  from  the  deck  the  sea  swept  all  the  crew. 

And  I  alone  was  left,  to  bring  to  you 

This  tale.     When  morning  came,  the  isle  was  gone  — 

The  unhallowed  land  you  call  San  Borondon ; 

A  land  of  sorcery  and  of  wicked  spells. 

Of  hills  and  groves  profane  and  demon  dells. 

Good  friends,  beware  !     Seek  not  the  accursed  shore. 

For  they  who  touch  its  sands  return  no  more, 

Save  by  a  miracle,  as  I  have  done  — 

Praised  be  Madonna  and  her  blessed  Son !  " 

Such  was  his  story.     But  when  morning  came, 
There  lay  that  smiling  island,  just  the  same. 
And  still  they  sail  to  find  the  enchanted  shore 
That  guards  a  fearful  mystery  evermore. 

C-.  '"  '\  o  '1 


38  SAN  BORONDON. 

A  thousand  years  may  pass  away  —  but  none 
Shall  know  the  secret  of  San  Borondon. 

And  so,  perchance,  a  thousand  years  may  roll, 
And  none  shall  solve  the  enigma  of  the  soul  — 
That  baffling  island  in  the  unknown  sea 
Whose  boundless  deep  we  name  Eternity. 


THE   OLD  YEAR. 

0  GOOD  Old  Year  !  this  night 's  your  last. 
And  must  you  go  ?     With  you  I  've  passed 

Some  days  that  bear  revision. 
For  these  I  'd  thank  you,  ere  you  make 
Your  journey  to  the  Stygian  lake, 

Or  to  the  fields  Elysian. 

Long  have  you  been  our  household  guest ; 
To  keep  you  we  have  tried  our  best. 

You  must  not  stay,  you  tell  us^ 
Not  even  to  introduce  your  heir. 
Who  comes  so  fresh  and  debonnair 

He  needs  must  make  you  jealous. 

1  heard  your  footsteps  overhead 
To-night  —  and  to  myself  T  said 

He  's  packing  his  portmanteau. 
His  book  and  staff  like  Prospero's 
He  has  buried,  where  nobody  knows, 

And  finished  his  last  canto. 


40  THE  OLD  YEAR. 

Your  well-known  hat  and  cloak  still  look 
The  same  upon  their  entry  hook, 

And  seem  as  if  they  grew  here. 
But  they,  ah  me  !  will  soon  be  gone, 
And  we  be  sitting  here  alone 

To  welcome  in  the  New  Year. 

The  boots  so  oft  put  out  at  night 
Will  vanish  ere  to-morrow's  light 

Across  the  east  is  burning. 
When  morning  comes,  full  well  I  know 
They  '11  leave  no  footprints  in  the  snow 

Of  going  or  returning. 

At  twelve  o'clock  to-night  Queen  Mab 
Will  take  you  in  her  spectral  cab 

To  catch  the  downward  fast  train. 
Some  of  us  will  sit  up  with  you. 
And  drink  a  parting  cup  with  you, 

WhUe  I  indite  this  last  strain. 

O  good  old  wise  frost-headed  Year, 

You  've  brought  us  health  and  strength  and  cheer, 

Though  sometimes  care  and  sorrow. 
Each  morn  you  gave  us  newer  hope 
That  reached  beyond  the  cloudy  scope 

Of  our  unseen  to-morrow. 


THE  OLD  YEAR.  41 

We  knew  you  when  you  were,  forsooth, 
No  better  than  a  stranger  youth  — 

A  fast  youth,  some  one  muttered, 
When  thinking  how  the  days  you  gave 
On  ghostly  horses  to  their  gi-ave 

Have  galloped,  flown  and  fluttered. 

But  what  is  time,  by  moon  and  stars 
Checked  off  in  monthly  calendars, 

To  fairy  kings  like  you  here  ? 
What  are  the  centuries  that  span 
The  inch-wide  spaces  ruled  by  man  ? 

Or  what  are  Old  and  New  Year  ? 

You  go  to  join  the  million  years. 

The  great  veiled  deep  that  never  clears 

Before  our  mortal  seeing  : 
The  shrouded  death,  the  evolving  life, 
The  gro^vth,  the  mystery,  the  strife 

Of  elemental  being. 

We  see  in  your  abstracted  eye 
The  clouded  flame  of  prophecy, 

Of  time  the  inamortal  scorning  — 
And  yet  the  sympathetic  smile 
That  says,  "  I  fain  would  stay  awliile 

To  bid  your  rhymes  good-morning." 


42  THE  OLD  YEAR. 

Ah !   no  more  rhymes  for  you  and  me, 
Old  Year,  shall  we  together  see,  — 

Yes,  we  to-night  must  sever. 
Good-bye,  old  Number  Seventy-five  ! 
It 's  nearly  time  you  took  your  drive 

Into  the  dark  forever. 

The  train  that  stops  for  you  will  let 
A  stranger  out  we  never  met, 

To  take  your  place  and  station. 
With  greetings  glad  and  shouts  of  joy 
They  '11  welcome  him  —  wliile  you,  old  boy, 

Depart  with  no  ovation. 

Besides,  he  has  a  higher  claim 
Than  you  —  a  grand  ancestral  name 

That  sets  the  bells  arringing. 
The  great  Centennial  Year  is  he. 
The  nation's  noisy  jubilee 

Young  Seventy-six  is  bringing. 

I  hear  the  puffing  of  his  steam. 
I  hear  his  locomotive  scream 

Across  the  hills  and  meadows. 
One  parting  glass  —  the  last  —  the  last ! 
Ten  minutes  more,  and  you  '11  have  jjassed 

Into  the  realm  of  shadows. 


THE  OLD  YEAR.  43 

Five  minutes  yet  ?     But  talk  must  end. 
On  with  your  cloak  and  cap,  old  friend  ! 

Too  long  we  have  been  prating. 
Your  blessing  now  !     We  '11  think  of  you. 
All,  there  's  the  clock  !     Adieu  —  adieu  ! 

I  see  your  cab  is  waiting. 

December  31,  1875. 


THE   CENTENNIAL  YEAR. 

A  HUNDRED  years  —  and  she  had  sat,  a  queen 
Sheltering  her  children,  opening  wide  her  gates 
To  all  the  inflowing  tribes  of  earth.     At  first 
Storms  raged  around  her ;   but  her  stumbling  feet 
Were  planted  firm  upon  the  eternal  rock. 
Her  young  majestic  head  with  sunny  curls 
And  features  tense  with  hope  and  prophecy 
Now  rose  above  the  clouds  of  war.     She  gazed 
Wistful  yet  calm  into  the  coming  years, 
And  grew  in  strength  and  wisdom :  and  afar 
Across  the  sea  the  nations  of  the  world 
Beheld,  and  muttered  from  their  ancient  halls, 
"  Who  is  this  stranger,  young,  unskilled  and  bold, 
This  Amazonian  regent  of  the  wilds 
We  spurned,  and  only  sought  when  exile  doomed  — 
Whose  sons  are  marshalling  the  land  and  sea. 
The  winds,  the  electric  currents  and  the  light. 
To  do  her  bidding  ?     Who  this  Titan  queen 
Whose  face  is  flushed  with  sunrise,  and  whose  hands 
Reach  forth  to  welcome  all  our  swarms  disowned, 
Cast  forth  upon  her  shores,  and  turn  their  blight 
To  bloom  and  culture  —  e'en  their  crime  to  good  ?  " 


THE  CENTENNIAL  YEAR.  45 

Then  some  beheld  her  with  derisive  sneers, 
Judgments  derived  from  rules  of  use  outworn, 
And  stale  conventional  comparison ; 
With  fear  and  envy  some  — others  with  awe 
And  vague  hope  of  ideal  rights  of  man,  — 
Green  harvests  now,  but  swelling  into  grain 
For  future  time. 

And  still  the  years  rolled  on. 
Tremors  of  battlefields  thrilled  through  her  limbs, 
Once,  twice,  and  thrice  —  the  last,  alas  !  like  shocks 
Of  agonizing  pain  ;  for  round  her  feet 
Her  own  —  her  children  gi'ajjpled  in  the  fields 
Of  blood  and  cannon-shot  and  fire  and  smoke  — 
One  recreant  multitude  for  slavery's  crown. 
And  one  for  freedom  and  the  common  cause 
That  gave  the  country  birth,  and  pledged  the  States 
To  unbroken  union  based  on  equal  rights. 
But  justice  triumphed,  and  the  stricken  land 
Regained  her  poise  hard-won. 

Still  roUed  the  years, 
Till  now  she  rounds  her  circling  century ; 
And  Peace  and  Plenty  smile  upon  her  fields 
That  stretch  from  sea  to  sea.     Then  she  arose 
And  spake  unto  the  States  that  clustered  round. 
Her  children  all,  war's  yawning  gulf  o'erbridged. 
North,  south,  and  east  and  west,  her  children  still ; 
And  to  the  ancestral  realms  across  the  seas  :  — 
"  This  year  I  celebrate  my  birth.     For  me, 


46  THE  CENTENNIAL  YEAR. 

One  of  the  Titan  race  of  latest  days, 

A  race  Saturnian  fables  knew  not  of, 

When  giants  grew,  but  hearts  and  minds  were  dwarfed 

And  cramped  by  precedents  of  brutal  force 

That  stormed  Olympus,  so  must  needs  be  crushed  — 

For  me  a  hundred  years  are  as  one  year 

To  you,  and  this  centennial  year  a  day. 

Therefore  't  is  meet  that  we  invite  the  world 

To  bring  its  various  treasures  to  our  shores, 

And  blend  with  us,  through  symbols  and  results 

Of  art  and  grand  achievement,  in  the  creed 

Of  human  brotherhood.     And  may  this  year 

Be  as  the  seal  and  jjledge  of  race  with  race 

Forever  —  one  with  all,  and  aU  with  one  !  " 

Then  in  a  chosen  spot,  where  the  first  vows 

Of  Liberty  were  plighted,  we  beheld 

A  wonder-work,  as  though  some  Geni  snared 

By  incantation  wrought  the  people's  will. 

For  stately  palaces  arose  and  gleamed 

Amid  the  trees  ;  and  on  the  distant  sea 

Came  argosies  full-laden  with  a  wealth, 

Not  such  as  Cortez  from  the  plundered  realms 

Of  Montezuma  bore,  blood-steeped  and  wrapped 

In  crime,  back  to  voracious  Sjjaiu  —  but  brought 

With  friendly  rivalry  from  every  clime ; 

From  shops  and  looms  of  quiet  industry 

And  rare  inventive  art  ;  more  wonderful 


THE  CENTENNIAL  YEAR.  47 

Than  crude  barbaric  days  could  ever  dream. 

There,  heaped  profusely  through  those  spacious  halls, 

The  treasures  of  the  abounding  century 

Were  ranged  in  order.     Thither,  as  to  a  shore, 

The  crowding  time-waves  of  a  hundred  years  — 

Silent  as  streams  of  air  —  had  pulsed  and  flowed 

And  broke  in  surges,  not  of  yeasty  foam, 

Resultless  thought,  and  aimless  bubble-dreams. 

But  products  of  the  busy  world-wide  Mind. 

From  European  and  from  Asian  lands, 

From  tropic  heats  and  Arctic  solitudes. 

From  towns  of  traffic  and  from  western  wilds. 

From  sunless  mines  and  clear,  high-windowed  halls 

Of  skill  and  industry,  and  lonely  rooms 

Where  artists  and  inventors  dreamed  and  toiled, 

Pledged  to  some  dear  thought-burden  of  a  life  :  — 

From  schools  and  laboratories  closely  bent 

On  nature's  inmost  secrets,  and  where  swift 

Discovery  trod  upon  discovery's  heels, 

In  silent  unforeseen  audacity 

Of  masterly  conception  and  result. 

Here  Europe  lavished  all  her  modern  wealth 

Of  apt  contrivance,  imitative  skill, 

And  costly  comfort.     There  remote  Japan 

With  strange  and  fascinating  styles  of  art 

Took  fancy  captive  ;  and  the  Orient  lands, 

Whose  more  familiar  forms  we  knew,  set  forth 

Their  porcelain  wonders  and  their  bronzes  quaint. 


48  THE  CENTENNIAL  YEAR. 

Their  ivory  lace-work  and  their  brilliant  sUks. 
And  there,  from  end  to  end  of  one  vast  space 
Throbbed  the  blind  force  whose  swift  gigantic  arm 
A  thousand  glistening  iron  slaves  obeyed, 
By  science  taught  to  serve  the  age's  need. 
And  day  by  day  the  thronging  multitudes, 
Flowing  and  ebbing  like  a  tide,  swept  by. 
And  up  and  down  through  halls  and  corridors 
Feasting  their  eyes  in  endless  holiday, 
Through  long,  far-reaching  vistas  all  compact 
Of  use  and  beauty. 

Proud  she  well  may  be. 
Once  cast  on  rocks  and  cradled  in  the  winds. 
She  now  commands,  our  Titan  mother  queen  ; 
While  thus  the  flattering  world  crowds  round  her  feet. 
One  half  to  see  the  gifts  tlie  other  half 
Has  laid  before  her  —  and  we  celebrate 
Her  first  proud  century's  close  with  worthy  signs 
Of  universal  brotherhood  and  peace. 

Then  ring,  ye  bells  !  and  let  the  organs  blow 
And  swell  the  choral  hymn  of  praise  and  joy. 
And  let  the  grand  orchestral  symphonies 
Resound  through  park  and  palace  ;  while  afar 
The  flying  thunders  of  the  steam  bring  in 
And  out  the  thousands  who  in  joyous  groups 
Make  blithe  centennial  festival  and  cheer. 
And  as  the  autumn  days  move  calmly  on, 


THE  CENTENNIAL  YEAR.  49 

And  from  the  trees  the  red  and  yellow  leaves 
Drop  to  the  earth  —  let  not  the  lesson  fall 
Unheeded.     With  fraternal  grasp  we  have  met 
Through  all  these  summer  and  autumnal  months. 
Henceforth  may  peace  and  unity  prevail 
O'er  aU  the  land.     America  demands 
No  pledge  less  true  for  her  Centennial  Year. 

Octoher,  1876. 


AFTER  THE  CENTENNIAL. 

(a  hope.) 

Before  our  eyes  a  pageant  rolled 
Whose  banners  every  land  unfurled  ; 

And  as  it  passed,  its  splendors  told 
The  art  and  glory  of  the  world. 

The  nations  of  the  earth  have  stood 
With  face  to  face  and  hand  in  hand, 

And  sworn  to  common  brotherhood 
The  sundered  souls  of  every  land. 

And  while  America  is  pledged 

To  light  her  Pharos  towers  for  all, 

While  her  broad  mantle,  starred  and  edged 
With  truth,  o'er  high  and  low  shall  fall ; 

And  while  the  electric  nerves  still  belt 
The  State  and  Continent  in  one,  — 

The  discords  of  the  past  shall  melt 
Like  ice  beneath  the  summer  sun. 


AFTER  THE  CENTENNIAL.  51 

0  land  of  hope  !  thy  future  years 
Are  shrouded  from  our  mortal  sight ; 

But  thou  canst  turn  the  century's  fears 
To  heralds  of  a  cloudless  light ! 

The  sacred  torch  our  fathers  lit 

No  wild  misrule  can  ever  quench ; 
Still  in  our  midst  wise  judges  sit, 

Whom  party  passion  cannot  blench. 

From  soul  to  soul,  from  hand  to  hand 
Thy  sons  have  passed  that  torch  along, 

Whose  flame  by  Wisdom's  breath  is  fanned, 
Whose  staff  is  held  by  runners  strong. 

O  Spirit  of  immortal  truth. 

Thy  power  alone  that  circles  all 
Can  feed  the  fire  as  in  its  youth  — 

Can  hold  the  runners  lest  they  fall ! 

February  2,  1877. 


A  NIGHT-PICTURE. 

A  GROAN  from  a  dim-lit  upper  room  — 

A  stealthy  step  on  the  stairs  in  the  gloom  — 

A  hurried  glance  to  left,  to  right 

In  the  court  below  —  then  out  in  the  night 

There  creeps  a  man  through  an  alley  dim, 

Till  lost  in  the  crowd.     Let  us  follow  him. 

The  night  is  black  as  he  hurries  along ; 
The  streets  are  filled  with  a  jostling  throng ; 
The  sidewalks  soak  in  the  misty  rain. 
He  dares  not  look  behind  again  — 
For  every  stranger  eye  he  caught 
Was  sure  to  know  his  inmost  thought. 
The  darkened  casements  looking  down 
From  tall  grim  houses  seemed  to  frown. 
The  globes  in  the  druggists'  windows  shone 
Like  fiery  eyes  on  him  alone, 
And  dashed  great  spots  of  bloody  red 
On  the  wet  jjavements  as  he  fled. 
And  as  he  passed  the  gas-lamps  tall. 
He  saw  his  lengthening  shadow  fall 


A  NIGIIT-PICTURE.  53 

Before  his  feet,  till  it  grew  and  grew 

To  a  giant  self  of  a  darker  hue. 

But  turning  down  some  lampless  street 

He  left  behind  the  trampling  feet, 

And  on  through  wind  and  lain  he  strode, 

Wliere  far  along  on  the  miry  road 

The  unwindowed  shanties  darkening  stood  — 

A  beggarly  and  outlawed  brood, 

'Mid  half-hewn  rocks  and  piles  of  dii't  — 

The  ragged  fringe  of  the  city's  skirt. 

Then  on,  still  on  through  the  starless  night, 

Shrinking  from  every  distant  light, 

Starting  at  every  roadside  bush, 

Or  swollen  stream  in  its  turbid  rush  — 

On,  still  on,  till  he  gained  the  wood 

In  whose  rank  depths  his  dwelling  stood. 

Then  over  his  head  the  billows  of  wind 

Rocked  and  roared  before  and  behind  ; 

And  all  of  a  sudden  the  clouds  let  out 

Their  pale  white  moon-shafts  all  about 

A  dreaiy  patch  where  the  trees  were  dead. 

By  a  rocky  swamp  and  a  ruined  shed  ; 

And  a  path  through  the  tangled  woods  appeared 

Between  two  oaks  where  the  briers  were  cleared. 

And  under  the  gloom  he  reaches  at  last 

His  door  —  creeps  in  and  locks  it  fast ; 

Then  strikes  a  match  and  lights  a  lamp. 

And  di'aws  from  his  pocket  heavy  and  damp 


54  A  NIGHT-PICTURE. 

A  wallet  of  leather  thick  and  brown. 
Then  at  a  table  sitting  down, 
To  count  the  —     Hark,  what  noise  was  that ! 
A  rattling  shutter  ?     A  rasping  rat 
Under  the  floor  ?     He  turns  to  the  door, 
And  sees  that  his  windows  are  all  secure. 
Then  kindles  a  fire,  and  dries  his  clothes, 
And  eats  and  drinks,  and  tries  to  doze. 
But  down  the  chimney  loud  and  fast 
Like  distant  cannon  roars  the  blast, 
And  on  the  wind  come  cries  and  calls 
And  voices  of  awful  waterfalls, 
And  winding  horns  and  ringing  bells, 
And  smothered  sobs  and  groans  and  yells. 
And  though  he  turns  into  his  bed 
And  wraps  his  blanket  around  his  head. 
Sleep  will  not  come,  or  only  sleep 
That  slides  him  down  on  an  unknown  deep, 
From  which  he  starts  —  and  then  it  seemed 
He  had  not  done  the  deed,  but  dreamed. 
Ah,  would  it  were  a  dream,  the  wild 
Wet  night,  and  he  once  more  a  child  ! 

On  a  flying  train,  in  the  dawning  day 
And  the  fragrant  morn,  he  is  far  away. 
But  secret  eyes  have  pierced  the  night, 
And  lightning  words  outstripped  his  flight. 
And  far  in  the  north,  where  none  could  know, 
The  law's  loncf  arm  has  reached  its  foe. 


A  CHILD-SAVIOR. 

(a  tbue  story.) 

She  stood  beside  the  iron  road, 

A  little  child  of  ten  years  old. 

She  heard  two  meeting  thunders  rolled 
From  north  and  south,  that  plainly  showed 

Danger  too  fearful  to  be  told. 

Nearer,  still  nearer,  rumbling  on. 

One  train  approached  with  crashing  speed. 

What  could  she  do  ?     Who  would  give  heed 
To  her  —  a  child,  who  stood  alone 

And  voiceless  as  a  roadside  weed  ? 

A  feeble  cry  she  raised,  and  stood 
Across  the  track,  —  and  then  untied 
Her  little  apron  from  her  side, 

And  waved  it  swiftly  as  she  could  — 
If  only  she  might  be  espied  ! 


56  A  CHILD-SAVIOR. 

If  only  on  the  hissing  back 

Of  that  huge  monster  nearing  fast 
The  engineer  his  eye  might  cast 

On  her  there  on  the  curving  track, 
And  heed  her  signal  ere  he  passed ! 

t    She  stands  with  shout  and  warning  beck ; 
On  comes  the  train  with  thundering  roar. 
The  fireman  sees  —  he  looks  once  more  — 
He  sees  a  little  waving  speck, 

And  slackening,  slower  moves  and  slower. 

"  Hi  —  little  girl !  what 's  all  this  row  ?  " 
"  Another  train  !  —  my  ears  it  stuns  ! 
It  rounds  the  curve  like  rattling  guns  ! 

Back  —  back  !  —  for  I  must  signal  now 
The  other."     And  away  she  runs. 

So  by  this  little  maiden's  hand 

Were  hundreds  saved  from  fearful  lot. 
But  when  with  awe  they  spoke  of  what 

They  had  escaped,  and  made  demand 
About  the  child,  they  found  her  not. 

For  she  had  vanished  through  the  wood. 
None  guessed  her  dwelling-j^lace  or  name, 
Nor  by  what  wondrous  chance  she  came  ; 

While  home  she  ran  in  blithesome  mood, 
Nor  knew  she  had  done  a  deed  of  fame. 


A  CHILD-SAVIOR.  57 

But  in  the  old  times  they  would  have  said 

It  was  an  angel  had  stood  there  — 

The  hood  above  her  golden  hair 
A  nimbus  glowing  round  a  head 

With  supernatural  radiance  fair. 

The  small  white  apron  that  she  waved 

Across  the  dangerous  iron  track 

To  warn  the  rushing  engines  back, 
Might  have  been  wings,  whose  flashing  saved 

Five  hundred  souls  from  mortal  wrack. 
November,  1882. 


AN  OLD  UMBRELLA. 

An  old  umbrella  in  the  hall, 

Battered  and  baggy,  quaint  and  queer ; 

By  all  the  rains  of  many  a  year 

Bent,  stained,  and  faded  —  that  is  all. 

Warped,  broken,  twisted  by  the  blast 

Of  twenty  winters,  till  at  last, 

Like  some  poor  close-reefed  schooner  cast, 

All  water-logged,  with  half  a  mast. 

Upon  the  rocks  —  it  finds  a  nook 

Of  shelter  on  an  entry  hook  :  — 

Old  battered  craft  —  how  came  you  here  ? 

Ah,  could  it  speak,  't  would  tell  of  one  — 

Old  Simon  Dowles,  who  now  is  gone  — 

Gone  where  the  weary  are  at  rest ; 

Of  one  who  locked  within  its  breast 

His  private  sorrows  o'er  his  lot, 

And  in  his  humble  work  forgot 

That  he  was  but  a  toiling  bark 

Upon  the  billows  in  the  dark, 

While  the  brave  newer  ships  swept  by 


AN  OLD  UMBRELLA.  59 

Sailing  beneath  a  prosperous  sky, 
And  winged  with  opportunities 
Fate  had  denied  to  hands  like  his. 

A  plain,  old-fasliioned  wight  was  he 

As  these  sport-loving  days  could  see  ; 

He  in  liis  youth  had  loved  and  lost 

His  loyal  true-love.     Ever  since 

His  lonely  life  was  flecked  and  crossed 

By  sorrow's  nameless  shadow-tints. 

Yet  never  a  murmur  from  his  lips 

Told  of  his  darkened  soul's  eclipse. 

I  often  think  I  still  can  hear 

His  voice  so  blithe,  his  tones  of  cheer, 

As,  dropping  in  to  say  "  good-day," 

He  gossiped  in  his  old  man's  way. 

And  yet  we  laughed  when  he  had  gone. 

We  youngsters  could  n't  understand  — 

No  matter  if  it  rained  or  shone, 

He  held  the  umbrella  in  his  hand. 

Or  if  he  set  it  in  the  hall. 

Where  other  shedders  of  the  rain 

Stood  dripping  up  against  the  wall, 

His  was  too  shabby  and  too  plain 

To  temjjt  exchange.     All  passed  it  by. 

Though  showers  of  rain  were  pouring  down 

And  all  the  gutters  of  the  town 

Were  torrents  in  the  darkening  sky. 


60  AN  OLD  UMBRELLA. 

He  never  left  it  once  behind 
Save  the  last  time  he  crossed  our  door. 
Oblivious  shadows  o'er  his  mind 
Presaged  his  failing  strength.     Before 
The  morning  he  had  passed  away 
In  peaceful  sleep  from  night  to  day. 
And  here  the  old  brown  umbreUa  still 
In  its  old  corner  stays  to  fiU 
The  place,  as  best  it  may,  of  him 
Who  on  this  wild  and  wintry  night 
Is  surely  with  the  saints  of  light  — 
For  whom  my  eyes  grow  moist  and  dim 
While  I  this  simple  rhyme  indite. 


TO  lONE. 

All  day  within  me,  sweet  and  clear 

The  song  you  sang  is  ringing. 
At  night  in  my  half-dreaming  ear 

I  hear  you  singing,  singing. 

Ere  thought  takes  up  its  homespun  thread 

When  early  morn  is  breaking, 
Sweet  snatches  hover  round  my  bed 

And  cheer  me  when  awaking. 

The  sunrise  brings  the  melody 

I  only  half  remember, 
And  summer  seems  to  smile  for  me, 

Although  it  is  December. 

Through  drifting  snow,  through  dropping  rain, 
Through  gusts  of  wind,  it  haunts  me. 

The  tantalizing  old  refrain 
Perplexes,  yet  enchants  me. 


62  TO  TONE. 

The  mystic  chords  that  bore  along 
Your  voice  so  calmly  splendid, 

In  glimmering  fragments  with  the  song 
Are  joined  and  vaguely  blended. 

I  touch  my  instrument  and  grope 

Along  the  keys'  confusion, 
And  dally  with  the  chords  in  hopes 

To  catch  the  sweet  illusion. 

In  vain  of  that  consummate  hour 
I  court  the  full  completeness, 

The  perfume  of  the  hidden  flower, 
The  perfect  bloom  and  sweetness. 

Of  strains  that  were  too  rich  to  last 

A  baffled  memory  lingers. 
The  theme,  the  air,  the  chords  have  passed  ; 

They  mock  my  voice  and  fingers. 

They  steal  away  as  sunset  fires 
Lose  one  by  one  their  flashes, 

And  cheat  the  eye  with  smouldering  pyres 
And  banks  of  gray  cloud-ashes. 

And  yet  I  know  the  old  alloy 

That  dims  and  disentrances 
The  golden  \'isions  and  the  joy 

Of  hojje's  resplendent  fancies 


TO  ZONE.  63 

Can  never  touch  that  festal  hour 

In  soul  and  sense  recorded, 
Though  scattered  rose  leaves  from  your  bower 

Alone  my  search  rewarded. 

The  unconnected  strains  alone 

Survive  to  bring  you  nearer, 
As  when  our  queen  of  song  and  tone 

Made  vassals  of  each  hearer. 

Yet  through  the  night  and  through  the  day 

The  notes  and  chords  are  ringing. 
Their  echo  will  not  pass  away  — 

I  hear  you  singing  —  singing. 


AFTER-LIFE. 

O  BOON"  and  curse  in  one  —  this  ceaseless  need 
Of  looking  still  behind  us  and  before  ! 

Gift  to  the  soul  of  eyes  that  cannot  read 
Life's  open  book  of  cabalistic  lore  ;  — 

Eyes  that  discern  a  light  and  joy  divine 
Twinkling  beyond  the  twilight  clouds  afar, 

Yet  know  not  if  it  be  the  countersign 

Of  moods  and  thoughts,  or  some  eternal  star. 

What  taunt  of  destiny  still  stimulates 
Yet  baffles  all  desire,  or  wise  or  fond. 

To  pierce  the  veil  ne'er  lifted  by  the  fates 
Between  the  life  that  ends  and  life  beyond  ? 

We  sit  before  the  doors  of  death,  and  dream 
That  when  they  ope  to  let  our  brothers  in, 

AVe  catch,  before  they  close,  some  flitting  gleam 
Of  glory  where  their  after-lives  begin. 


AFTER-LIFE.  65 

And  with  the  Hght  a  transient  burst  of  song 
Comes  from  within  the  gates  that  shut  again 

Upon  oui-  (lead.     Then  we,  the  proud,  the  strong, 
Sit  cruslied  and  lonely  in  our  wordless  pain. 

Weeping,  we  knock  against  the  bars,  and  call, 

"  Speak  —  speak,  O  love,  for  we  are  left  alone  !  " 

We  hear  our  voices  echo  against  the  wall, 
And  dream  it  is  a'  spirit's  answering  tone. 

"  Come  back,  or  answer  us  !  "     In  vain  we  cry. 

Naught  is  so  near  as  death,  so  far  away 
As  life  beyond.     They  only  know  who  die  : 

And  we  who  live  can  only  guess  and  pray. 

If  't  were  indeed  a  voice  not  born  within  — 

Some  sure  authentic  sign  from  unknown  realms  — 

Some  note  that  heart  and  reason  both  could  win  — 
Some  carol  like  yon  oriole  in  the  elms  ; 

Though  but  a  vague  and  broken  music  caught. 

Heard  in  the  darkness,  and  then  heard  no  more  — 

Sinking  in  sudden  silence  —  while  in  thought 
We  piece  the  strains  outside  the  muffled  door 

That  leads  into  the  light  and  perfect  joy 

Of  the  full  concert  —  then  't  were  bliss  indeed 

No  present  griefs  could  darken  or  destroy ; 

Somewhere  life's  mystery  we  should  learn  to  read. 


66  AFTER-LIFE. 

Somewhere  we  then  might  drop  the  ripened  seed 
Of  life,  to  grow  again  beyond  the  sky  — 

Nor  deem  the  human  soul  a  withering  weed 
Born  but  to  bloom  a  summer  time  and  die. 


PRINCE   YOUSUF  AND  THE  ALCAYDE. 

A   MOORISH   BALLAD. 

In  Grenada  reigned  Mohammed, 
Sixth  who  bore  the  name  was  he  ; 

But  the  rightful  king,  Prince  Yousuf, 
Pined  in  long  captivity  : 

Yousuf,  brother  to  Mohammed. 

Him  the  king  had  seized  and  sent 
Prisoner  to  a  Moorish  castle. 

Where  ten  years  his  life  was  spent. 

lU  and  feeble,  now  the  usurper 
Felt  his  death  was  hastening  on, 

And  would  fain  bequeath  his  kingdom 
And  his  title  to  his  son. 

Calling  then  a  trusty  servant, 

He  to  him  a  letter  gave  — 
"  Take  my  fleetest  horse,  and  hasten, 

If  my  life  you  wish  to  save. 


68        PRINCE  YOUSUF  AND  THE  ALCAYDE. 

"  Hie  thee  to  the  brave  Alcayde 

0£  my  castle  by  the  sea  ; 
To  his  hands  give  thou  this  letter, 

And  his  physician  bring  to  nae." 

Then  in  haste  his  servant  mounted, 
And  for  many  a  league  he  rode, 

Till  he  reached  the  court  and  castle 
Where  the  captive  jirince  abode. 

There  sat  Yousuf  and  the  Alcayde 

In  the  castle,  playing  chess. 
"  What  is  this  ?  "  the  keeper  muttered. 

"  Some  bad  tidings,  as  I  guess." 

Pale  he  grew,  and  sat  and  trembled, 
While  his  eye  the  letter  scanned  ; 

And  his  voice  was  choked  and  speechless, 
As  he  dropped  it  from  his  hand. 

"  Now  what  ails  thee  ?  "  cried  Prince  Yousuf. 

"  Doth  the  king  demand  my  head  ?  " 
"  Read  it !  "  gasps  the  good  Alcayde. 

"  Ah,  my  lord  —  would  I  were  dead !  " 

Yousuf  read  :  "  When  this  shall  reach  you, 
Slay  my  Ijrother,  and  his  liead 


PRINCE  YOUSUF  AND  THE  ALCAYDE.        69 

Straightway  by  the  bearer  send  me  ; 
So  I  may  be  sure  he  's  dead." 

"  So  "  —  cried  Yousuf.     "  This  I  looked  for. 

Now  let  us  play  out  our  game. 
I  was  losing  —  you  were  winning 

When  tliis  ugly  message  came." 

All  confused,  the  poor  Alcayde 

Played  his  knights  and  bishops  wrong ; 

And  the  prince  his  moves  corrected. 
So  in  silence  sat  they  long. 

In  his  mind  Prince  Yousuf  pondered, 

"  Why  this  hasty  message  send, 
If  my  kind  and  thoughtful  brother 

Were  not  hastening  to  Ms  end  ? 

"  Surely  he  is  ill  or  dying. 

And  if  I  must  lose  my  head, 
My  young  nephew  will  succeed  him 

O'er  Grenada  in  my  stead. 

"  Though  my  keeper  still  is  friendly, 

I  must  gain  some  hours'  delay. 
He  is  poor  :  the  king  may  bribe  him. 

He  may  change  ere  close  of  day." 


70       PRINCE  YOUSUF  AND  THE  ALCAYDE. 

Then  aloud  —  "  Come,  good  Alcayde  — 
One  more  game  before  I  die. 

And  be  sure  you  make  no  blunders  — 
I  may  beat  you  yet.     I  '11  try." 

In  his  lonely  life  the  keeper 

Dearly  loved  his  game  of  chess  ; 

Therefore  needs  he  little  urging, 

Though  sad  thoughts  his  soul  oppress. 

For  an  hour  or  two  they  battled, 
And  the  Alcayde  gained  amain  ; 

For  the  prince  Avith  restless  glances 
Gazed  beyond  the  window-pane. 

Still  the  chess-board  lay  between  them ; 

And  the  Alcayde  i^layed  his  best ; 
Took  no  note  of  gliding  hours, 

TUl  the  sunset  fired  the  west. 

Yet  he  gained  not,  for  Prince  Yousuf 
With  a  sudden  checkmate  sprang 

Unforeseen  —  and  that  same  moment  — 
Hark  —  was  that  a  bugle  rang  ? 

Tlu'ough  the  western  windows  gazing 
Far  across  the  dusty  plain. 


PRINCE  YOUSUF  AND  THE  ALCAYDE.       71 

Yousuf  saw  the  flash  of  lances  — 
And  the  bugle  rang  again. 

And  two  knights  appeared  advancing 

Like  two  eagles  on  the  wing. 
Allah  Akbar !     From  Grenada 

Faces  flushed  with  joy  they  bring. 
The  king  is  dead  !     Long  live  King  Yousuf  ! 

Long  lost  lord  —  our  rightful  king ! 


ROSAMOND. 

In  the  fragrant  bright  June  morning,  Rosamond,  the 

queen  of  girls, 
Down  the  marble  doorsteps    loiters,   radiant   with   her 

sunny  curls  ; 
O'er  the  green  sward  through  the  garden  passes  to  the 

river's  brink  — 
Throws  away  an  old  bouquet,  and  wonders  if  't  will  float 

or  sink. 
Then  returning  through  the  garden,  round  and  round  the 

lawn  she  goes, 
Singing,  as  she  cuts  fresh  roses,  she  herself  her  world's 

fair  rose ; 
In  her  dainty  morning-robe  and  straw  hat  shading  half 

her  face  — 
Picturesque  in  form    and    feature,  lovely  in  her  youth 

and  grace ; 
In  her  hand  a  little  dagger,  sharp  and  glittering  in  the 

sun. 
Rifling  hearts  of  thorny  bushes,  cutting  roses  one  ])y  one, 
Pink  and  white  and  blood-red  crimson  —  some  in  bud 

and  some  full-blown. 


ROSAMOND.  73 

There  through  lawn  and  grove  and  garden  sings  she  to 

herself  alone  ; 
Softly  sings  in  broken  snatches  some  old  song  of  Spain 

or  France, 
As  she  holds  her  roses  off   at   full  arm's   length,  with 

sidelong  glance, 
Shifting  groups  of  forms  and  colors  ;  for  a  painter's  eye 

hath  she. 
And  all  beauty  pleaseth  her,  so  artist-like  and  fancy-free. 

Now  she  enters  her  boudoir  and  sets  her  roses  in  a  vase. 

There  for  seven  days  and  nights  their  bloom  and  fra- 
grance fill  the  place. 

When  the  petals  droop  and  fade,  she  '11  bear  them  to 
the  river's  brink  ; 

Singing,  throw  them  on  the  waves,  and  wonder  if  they  '11 
float  or  sink. 

Will  she  bear  away  to-night  a  bunch  of  lovers'  rose- 
hearts,  pray  ? 

Set  them  in  her  vase  a  week  —  then  throw  them  with 
her  flowers  away  ? 


A  QUESTION. 

Ah,  who  can  tell  which  guide  were  best 
To  truth  long  sought,  but  unattained  — 

The  early  faith,  or  late  unrest  ? 

What  age  has  earned,  or  boyhood  gained  ? 

When  down  life's  vista  as  we  gaze, 

Where  vanished  youth's  remembered  gleam, 
The  radiance  of  the  unconscious  days  — 

The  dream  that  knew  not  't  was  a  dream  — 

The  time  ere  yet  the  shades  of  doubt 
Before  our  steps  crept  lengthening  on, 

And  morn  and  noon  spread  all  about 
Their  warm  and  fragrant  benison  — 

Was  this  a  vision  of  the  mind 

That  comes  but  once  and  disappears  ? 

And  can  our  riper  wisdom  find 
A  clearer  path  in  after  years  ? 


A  QUESTION.  75 

The  lore  of  philosophic  age, 

Tlie  legendary  creed  of  youth  — 
Say  which  should  trace  upon  life's  page 

The  book-mark  of  the  surest  truth  ? 

Ah,  question  not.     The  unconscious  life 

That  leaps  to  its  spontaneous  deed 
Alone  can  harmonize  the  strife 

Between  the  impulse  and  the  deed. 

Through  dark  and  light  —  through  change  on  change 

The  planet-soul  is  pledged  to  move, 
Steeped  aU  along  its  spinning  range 

In  sunshine  born  of  thought  and  love. 


MY   STUDIO. 

I  LOVE  it,  yet  I  hardly  can  tell  why  — 

My  studio  with  its  window  to  the  sky, 

Far  up  above  the  noises  of  the  street, 

The  rumbling  carts,  the  ceaseless  tramp  of  feet ; 

A  privacy  secure  from  idle  crowds, 

And  public  only  to  the  flying  clouds. 

No  shadowed  corners  round  about  me  hide. 

Clear-lighted  stand  its  walls  on  every  side. 

Each  sketch  and  picture  showing  at  its  best. 

A  room  for  cheery  work  that  needs  no  rest. 

Only  too  short  these  days  of  autumn  seem, 

Where  labor  is  but  joy  and  peace  supreme ; 

Where  fields  and  woods,  towns,  skies,  and  winding  rills 

Still  haunt  the  memory  as  the  canvas  fills. 

And  while  the  painter  plies  his  earnest  task, 

He  seems  as  in  some  vision-land  to  bask  ; 

And  all  that  fed  his  eye  and  fired  his  soul 

When  in  the  golden  summer  days  he  stole 

Their  forms  and  colors,  now  lived  o'er  again, 

Runs  like  a  strain  of  music  throuoh  his  brain. 


MY  STUDIO.  77 


O  joyous  tasks  of  art  I  without  your  spell 
Life  were  a  dull  and  dreary  cloister-cell, 
All  nature  darkened  and  all  beauty  dim. 
But  ye  fill  up  its  chalice  to  the  brim 
With  draughts  as  sweet  as  ever  yet,  I  ween, 
Flowed  in  the  poets'  sparkling  Hijjpocrene. 


TALENT  AND  GENIUS. 

I. 

On  the  high  road  travelling  steady, 
Sure,  alert,  and  ever  ready, 
Prompt  to  seize  all  fit  occasion, 
Courting  power  and  wealth  and  station ; 
One  clear  aim  before  him  keeping 
With  a  vigilance  unsleeping  ; 
Prizing  most  the  ephemeral  flower 
Blooming  for  a  brilliant  hour  ; 
With  self-conscious  action  moving  ; 
Well  known  truths  intent  on  proving ; 
Radiant  in  his  day  and  season 
With  the  world's  reflected  reason ; 
Noting  times,  effects,  and  causes, 
Phaon  wins  the  crowd's  applauses. 

n. 

Wing'd  like  an  eagle  o'er  mountains  and  meadows, 
Lit  by  their  splendors  or  hid  by  their  shadows; 
Borne  by  a  2:)ower  supernal,  resistless  ; 
Dreaming  through  trances  abstracted  and  listless  ; 


TALENT  AND  GENIUS.  79 

Swooping  capricious  to  faults  and  to  errors, 
Redeemed  by  a  virtue  unconscious  of  terrors ; 
Linking  with  ease  his  result  and  endeavor  ; 
Opening  through  chaos  fresh  pathways  forever  ; 
Gilding  the  world  with  his  thoughts  and  his  fancies  • 
Scornful  of  fashions  and  heedless  of  chances  ; 
Yet  in  obscurity  living  and  dying  — 
Hylas,  a  voice  in  the  wilderness  crying, 
Only  is  heard  when  no  hand  can  restore  him, 
Only  is  known  when  the  grave  closes  o'er  him. 


VENICE. 

While  the  skies  of  tliis  northern  Novemher 
Scowl  down  with  a  darkening  menace, 

I  wonder  if  you  still  remember 

That  marvellous  summer  in  Venice. 

When  the  mornings  by  clouds  unencumbered 
Smiled  on  in  unchanging  persistence 

On  the  broad  bright  laguna  that  slumbered 
Afar  in  the  magical  distance. 

And  the  mirror  of  waters  reflected 

The  sails  in  their  gay  plumage  grouping 

Like  tropical  birds  tliat  erected 

Their  wings,  or  sat  drowsily  drooping. 

How  by  moonlight  our  gondola  gliding 

Througli  gleams  and  through  shadows  of  wondei*, 

With  its  sharp  flashing  beak  flew  dividing 
The  waves  slipping  silently  under. 


VENICE.  81 

Then  almost  too  full  seemed  the  chalice 
Of  new  bnmming  life  and  of  beauty, 

As  we  floated  by  Riva  and  palace, 
Dogana  and  stately  Salute  — 

Through  deep-mouthed  canals  overshaded 
By  balconies  gray,  quaint  and  olden. 

Where  ruins  of  centuries  faded 

Stood  stripjied  of  their  azure  and  golden. 

Do  you  call  back  the  days  when  before  us 

The  masters  of  art  shone  revealing 
Their  marvels  of  color  —  and  o'er  us 

Glowed  grand  on  the  rich  massy  ceiling 

In  the  halls  of  the  doges,  where  trembled 

The  state  in  its  turbulent  fever. 
And  purple-robed  senates  assembled 

In  days  that  are  shadows  forever  ? 

You  remember  the  yellow  light  tipping 
The  domes  when  the  sunset  was  dying ; 

The  crowds  on  tlie  quays,  and  the  shipping ; 
The  pennons  and  flags  that  were  flying  ;  — 

Saint  Mark's  with  its  mellow-toned  glory, 
The  splendor  and  gloom  of  its  riches  ; 


82  VENICE. 

The  columns  Byzantine  and  hoary  ; 
The  arches,  the  gold-crusted  niches; 

And  the  days  when  the  sunshine  invited 
The  painters  abroad,  until  mooring 

Their  bark  in  the  shadow,  delighted 
They  wi'ought  at  their  labors  alluring  ; 

The  pictures  receding  in  stretches 
Of  amber  and  opal  around  us  — 

The  joy  of  our  mornings  of  sketches  — 
The  spell  of  achievement  that  bound  us  ? 

Ah,  never  I  busy  my  brushes 

With  scenes  of  that  radiant  weather, 

But  through  me  the  memory  rushes 
When  we  were  in  Venice  together. 

Fair  Venice,  the  pearl-shell  of  cities  ! 

Though  poor  the  oblations  we  bring  her  — 
The  pictures,  the  songs  and  the  ditties  — 

Ah,  still  we  must  j^aint  her  and  sing  her ! 

A  vision  of  beauty  long  vanished, 
A  dream  that  is  joy  to  remember, 

A  solace  that  cannot  be  banished 
By  all  the  chill  blasts  of  November  ! 


THE  TWO   DREAMS. 

I  MET  one  in  the  Land  of  Sleep 

Who  seemed  a  friend  long  known  and  true. 
I  woke.     That  friend  I  could  not  keep  — 

For  him  I  never  knew. 

Yet  there  was  one  in  life's  young  morn 
Loved  me,  I  thought,  as  I  loved  him. 

Slow  from  that  trance  I  waked  forlorn, 
To  find  his  love  grown  dim. 

He  by  whose  side  in  dreams  I  ranged, 

Unknown  by  name,  my  friend  still  seems ; 

While  he  I  knew  so  well  has  changed. 
So  both  were  only  dreams. 


AT  THE   GRAVE  OF  KEATS. 

TO   G.    W.    C. 

Long,  long  ago,  in  the  sweet  Roman  spring 

Through  the  bright  morning  air  we  slowly  strolled, 

And  in  the  blue  heaven  heard  the  skylarks  sing 
Above  the  ruins  old  — 

Beyond  the  Forum's  crumbling  grass-grown  piles, 

Through   high-walled   lanes    o'erhung  with   blossoms 
white 

That  opened  on  the  far  Campagna's  miles 
Of  verdure  and  of  light ; 

Till  by  the  grave  of  Keats  we  stood,  and  found 
A  rose  some  loyal  hand  had  planted  there. 

Making  more  sacred  still  that  hallowed  ground, 
And  that  enchanted  air. 

A  single  rose,  whose  fading  petals  drooped, 
And  seemed  to  wait  for  us  to  gather  them. 

So,  kneeling  on  the  humble  mound,  we  stooped 
And  plucked  it  from  its  stem. 


AT  THE  GRAVE  OF  KEATS.  85 

One  rose,  and  nothing  more.     We  shared  its  leaves 
Between  us,  as  we  shared  the  thoughts  of  one 

Called  from  the  fields  before  his  miripe  sheaves 
Could  feel  the  harvest  sun. 

That  rose's  fragrance  is  forever  fled 

For  us,  dear  friend  —  but  not  the  poet's  lay. 

He  is  the  rose  —  deathless  among  the  dead  — 
Whose  perfume  lives  to-day. 


BROKEN  WINGS. 

Gray-headed  poets,  whom  the  full  years  bless 
With  life  and  health  and  chance  still  multiplied 

To  hold  your  forward  course  —  fame  and  success 
Close  at  your  side  ; 

Who  easier  won  your  bays  because  the  fields 

Lacked  reapers  ;  —  time  has  been  your  helper  long. 

Rich  are  the  crops  your  busy  tillage  yields  — 
Your  arms  stUl  strong. 

Honor  to  you,  your  talent  and  your  truth. 

As  ye  have  soared  and  sung,  still  may  ye  sing ! 
Yet  we  remember  some  who  fell  in  youth 

With  broken  wing. 

Names  nigh  forgotten  now,  by  time  erased, 
Or  else  placarded  o'er  by  those  long  known, 

Had  fate  permitted,  might  they  not  have  blazed 
Beside  your  own  ? 

All  yes,  due  fame  for  all  who  have  achieved ; 

And  yet  a  thought  for  those  who  died  too  young  — 


BROKEN  WINGS.  87 

Their    green  fruit    dropped  —  their    visions    half    con- 
ceived — 
Their  lays  unsung ! 

A  tribute  song  for  them !     Reach  forth,  renowned 
And  honored  ones,  from  your  green  sunny  glades, 

And  grasp  their  spirit-hands  —  the  bards  uncrowned 
Amid  the  shades. 

Not  those  whom  glory  follows  to  a  bier 

Enshrined  in  marble,  decked  with  costly  flowers. 

The  loud  world  speaks  their  praise  from  year  to-year. 
They  need  not  ours. 

But  for  the  dead  whose  promise  failed  through  death, 
The  great  who  might  have  been  —  whose  early  bloom 

Dropping  like  roses  in  the  north-wind's  breath, 
Found  but  a  tomb. 

Yet  it  may  be,  in  some  bright  land,  unchecked 
By  fate  — some  fair  Elysian  field  unknown. 

Their  brows  by  brighter  laurel  wreaths  are  decked  — 
Their  seat  a  throne  ; 

While  spirits  of  the  illustrious  dead,  the  seers, 

Prophets  and  poets  of  the  olden  days 
Mingle,  perchance,  with  theirs,  as  with  their  peers, 

Immortal  lays. 


SEA  PICTURES. 


MOBNESTG. 


The  morning  sun  has  pierced  the  mist, 
And  beach  and  cliff  and  ocean  kissed. 
Blue  as  the  lapis-lazuli 
The  sea  reflects  the  azure  sky. 
In  the  salt  healthy  breeze  I  stand 
Upon  the  solid  floor  of  sand. 
Along  the  untrodden  shore  are  seen 
Fresh  tufts  of  weed  maroon  and  green, 
And  ruffled  kelp  and  stranded  sticks 
And  shells  and  stones  and  sea-moss  mix. 
The  low  black  rocks,  forever  wet. 
Lie  tangled  in  their  pulpy  net. 
The  shy  sand-pipers  fly  and  light  — 
And  swallows  circle  out  of  sight. 
Out  where  the  sky  the  horizon  meets 
Glide  glimmering  sails  in  scattered  fleets. 
Old  Ocean  smiles  as  though  amid 
His  leagues  of  l>rine  no  treachery  hid. 
And  safe  upon  the  sandy  marge, 
By  stranded  boat  and  floating  barge, 


SEA  PICTURES.  89 

Gay  children  leap  and  laugh  and  run, 
Browned  by  the  salt  air  and  the  sun. 

II. 

EVENING. 

Now  thickening  twilight  presses  down 

Upon  the  harbor  and  the  town, 

And  all  around  a  misty  pall 

Of  dull  gray  cloud  hangs  over  all. 

The  huddling  fishing-sloops  lie  safe, 

While  far  away  the  breakers  chafe. 

And  now  the  landsman's  straining  eye 

Mingles  the  gray  sea  with  the  sky. 

Far  out  upon  the  darkening  deep 

The  white  ghosts  of  the  ocean  leap. 

Boone  Island's  light,  a  lonely  star, 

Is  flashing  o'er  the  waves  afar. 

Up  the  broad  beach  the  sea  rolls  in 

In  never-ending  foam  and  din  ; 

And  all  along  the  craggy  shore 

Resounds  one  long  continuous  roar. 

We  turn  away,  and  hail  each  gleam 

Where  lamps  from  cottage  windows  stream. 

For  sad  and  solemn  is  the  moan 

Of  ocean  when  the  day  has  flown, 

And,  borne  on  dusky  wings,  the  night 

Wraps  in  a  sliroud  the  dying  light. 


ARS  LONGA,  VITA  BREVIS. 

I  STAKTED  on  a  lonely  road. 

A  few  companions  with  me  went. 
Some  fell  behind,  some  forward  strode, 

But  all  on  one  high  purpose  bent : 

To  live  for  Nature,  finding  truth 
In  beauty,  and  the  shrines  of  art ; 

To  consecrate  our  joyous  youth 
To  aims  outside  the  common  mart. 

The  way  was  steep,  though  pleasure  crowned 
Our  toil  with  every  step  we  took. 

The  morning  air  was  spiced  around 
From  many  a  pine  and  cedar  nook. 

I  turned  aside  and  lingered  long 
To  pluck  a  rose,  to  hear  a  bird, 

To  muse,  while  listening  to  the  song 
Of  brooks  through  leafy  coverts  heard  ; 

To  live  in  thoughts  that  brought  no  fame 
Or  guerdon  from  the  thoughtless  crowd ; 


ARS  LONG  A,  VITA  BRE\1S.  91 

To  toil  for  ends  that  could  not  claim 
The  world's  applauses  coarse  and  loud ; 

Then  onward  pressed.     But  far  before 

I  saw  my  comrades  on  the  heights. 
They  no  divided  homage  bore 

To  Beauty's  myriad  sounds  and  sights. 

In  blithe  self-confidence  they  /wrought. 

Some  strove  for  fame  and  fame's  reward. 
They  pleased  the  public's  facile  thought ; 

Then  paused  and  stretched  them  on  the  sward. 

And  still  though  oft  I  bind  my  sheaf 

In  fields  my  comrades  have  not  known ; 

Though  Art  is  long  and  life  is  brief, 
And  youth  has  now  forever  flown, 

I  would  not  lose  the  raptures  sweet. 

Nor  scorn  the  toil  of  earlier  years  ; 
Still  would  I  climb  with  eager  feet, 

Though  towering  height  on  height  appears  — 

And  up  the  mountain  road  I  see 
A  younger  throng  with  voices  loud, 

Who  side  by  side  press  on  with  me. 
Till  I  am  lost  amid  the  crowd. 


LOVE'S  VOYAGE. 

As  once  I  sat  upon  the  shore 

There  came  to  me  a  fairy  boat, 
A  bark  I  never  saw  before, 

Whose  coming  I  had  failed  to  note, 
Wrapped  in  my  studies  conning  rules  of  life  by  rote. 

The  stern  was  fashioned  like  a  heart ; 
The  curving  sides  like  Cupid's  bow. 
And  from  the  mast,  which  like  a  dart 
Was  winged  above  and  barbed  below, 
A  pennon  like  an  airy  stream  of  blood  did  flow. 

Upon  the  prow  on  either  side 

Was  carved  a  snowy  Paphian  dove. 
Between,  reflected  in  the  tide 

An  arching  swan's  neck  rose  above 
The  deck  o'erspread  with  broidered  tapestries  of  love. 

Against  the  mast  the  idle  sail 

Flapped  like  a  lace-edged  valentine. 
It  seemed  a  canvas  all  too  frail, 


LOVE'S  VOYAGE.  93 

Should  winds  arouse  the  sleeping  brine. 
A  toy  the  boat  appeared,  for  sport  in  weather  fine. 

And  so  I  stepped,  in  idle  mood, 

Aboard  the  bark  —  when  suddenly 
A  breeze  sprang  up  :  and  while  I  stood 

Uncertain,  thinking  I  was  free 
To  make  retreat,  the  vessel  bore  me  out  to  sea. 

Silent  and  swift  away  from  land 

It  cut  the  waves.  No  pilot  steered. 
No  voice  of  captain  gave  command. 

Yet  to  and  fro  it  tacked  and  veered. 
All  day  it  flew.     At  eve  a  distant  land  appeared. 

An  island  in  the  restless  seas, 

With  rosy  cliffs,  and  gold  and  green 
Of  dajjpled  fields,  and  tropic  trees. 

With  trailing  vines  and  flowers  between, 
Across  the  purple  waves  through  amber  skies  was  seen. 

And  music  floating  from  afar 

I  heard,  of  voice  and  instrument 
As  the  sun  sank,  and  star  by  star 
Throbbed  in  the  living  firmament ; 
And  all  kind  fates  seemed   pledged  to  cheer  me   as  I 
went. 


94  LOVE'S  VOYAGE. 

Till  in  a  deep  and  shadowy  bay 

The  little  argosy,  self-furled, 
Self-anchored,  in  the  silence  lay, 

And  landed  me  upon  a  world 
By  other  stars  and  moons  endiamonded,  impearled. 

A  region  to  my  student's  nooks 

Unknown  —  where  first  I  learned  to  see 

That  love  is  never  conned  from  books. 
Nor  passion  taught  by  fantasy  — 
But  in  the  living,  beating  heart  alone  can  be. 

For  on  that  shore  a  maiden  stood, 
Who  smiled  with  sympathetic  glance, 

And  when  I  pressed  her  hand,  and  wooed. 
Turned  not  her  truthful  eyes  askance, 
And  proved  my  voyage  was  no  idle  sport  of  chance. 

Ah,  from  this  island  if  I  veer 

Into  the  seas  of  worldly  strife, 
Give  me  the  bark  that  brought  me  here, 
Where  now  the  tried  and  faithful  wife 
Year  after  year  renews  the  lover's  lease  of  life. 


SURVIVAL  OF  THE   FITTEST. 

"  Naught  but  the  fittest  lives,"  I  hear 
Ring  on  the  northern  breeze  of  thought : 

"  To  Nature's  heart  the  strong  are  dear, 
The  weak  must  pass  unloved,  unsought." 

And  yet  in  undertones  a  voice 

Is  heard  that  says,  '"  0  child  of  earth, 

Your  mind's  best  work,  your  heart's  best  choice 
Shall  stand  with  God  for  what  they  are  worth," 

Time's  buildings  are  not  all  of  stone. 

With  frailest  fibres  Nature  spins 
Her  living  webs  from  zone  to  zone. 

And  what  is  lost  she  daUy  wins. 

I  fain  would  think,  amid  the  strife 

Between  realities  and  forms, 
Slight  gifts  may  claim  perennial  life 

'Mid  slow  decay  and  sudden  storms. 

This  tuft  of  silver  hairs  I  loose 
From  open  -windows  to  the  breeze. 


96  SURVIVAL  OF  THE  FITTEST. 

Some  bird  of  spring  perchance  may  use 
To  build  her  nest  in  yonder  trees. 

These  pictures  painted  with  an  art 
Surpassed  by  younger  sight  and  skill, 

May  pass  into  some  friendly  heart, 

Some  room  with  Nature's  smiles  may  fill. 

These  leaves  of  light  and  earnest  rhyme 
Dropped  on  the  windy  world,  though  long 

Neglected  now,  some  future  time 
May  weave  into  its  nest  of  song. 


A  WORD  TO   PHILOSOPHERS. 

Cold  pliilosophers,  so  apt 

With  your  formulas  exacting, 

In  your  problems  so  enwrapt, 
And  your  theories  distracting ; 

Webs  of  metaphysic  doubt 

On  your  wheels  forever  spinning, 

Turning  Nature  inside  out 

From  its  end  to  its  beginning ; 

Drawing  forth  from  matter  raw 
Protoplasmic  threads,  to  fashion 

Wliat  Creation  never  saw  — 

Mind  apart  from  faith  or  passion  ; 

Faculties  that  know  no  wants 

But  a  logical  position  — 
Intellectual  cormorants 

Fed  on  facts  of  pure  cognition  ;  — 

Like  Arachne's  is  your  task, 
By  Minerva's  wisdom  baffled. 


98  A  WORD  TO  PHILOSOPHERS. 

Defter  weavers  we  must  ask  ; 
Tissues  less  obscurely  ravelled. 

Larger  vision  you  must  find 
Ere  your  evolution-j)lummets 

Sound  the  abysses  of  the  mind, 

Or  your  measure  reach  its  summits. 

Not  from  matter  crude  and  coarse 
Comes  this  delicate  creation. 

Twinned  with  it  a  finer  force 
Rules  it  to  its  destination. 

All  beliefs,  affections,  deeds 

Feed  its  depths  as  streams  a  river, 

Every  purpose  holds  the  seeds 
Of  a  fruit  that  grows  forever. 

Souls  outsoar  your  schoolmen's  wit, 
In  a  loftier  heaven  wheeling. 

Lights  ideal  o'er  them  flit. 

Every  thought  is  wing'd  with  feeling. 

Conscience  born  of  heavenly  light 
Mingles  with  their  lofty  yearning  ; 

Phantasy  and  humor  bright 

Cheer  their  toilsome  path  of  learning. 


A  WORD  TO  PHILOSOPHERS.  99 

Poesy  with  dreamy  eyes 

Lures  them  into  fairy  splendor, 
Music's  magic  harmonies 

Thrill  with  touches  deep  and  tender. 

Love,  that  shapes  their  mental  moods, 

Offers  now  its  warm  oblations, 
Now  the  heart's  dark  solitudes 

Glow  with  solemn  adorations. 

Vain  your  biologic  strife. 

Your  asserting,  your  denying  ; 
Ygdrasil  the  Tree  of  Life 

Flouts  your  narrow  classifying. 

Every  living  leaf  and  bud 

On  its  mighty  branches  growing, 
Palpitates  with  will  and  blood 

Past  jirimordial  foreknowing. 

Your  dissecting-knives  can  show 

Less  than  half  these  wondrous  natures, 

In  these  beating  hearts  there  glow 

Flames  that  scorch  your  nomenclatures,  — 

Lights  that  make  your  axioms  fine 

Fade  like  stars  when  day  is  breaking  ;  — 

Splendors,  hoj^es,  and  powers  divine, 
New  born  with  each  day's  awaking. 


100  A  WORD  TO  PHILOSOPHERS. 

Raise  your  scientific  lore, 
Grant  us  larger  definitions  ; 

Souls  are  surely  something  more 
Than  mere  bundles  of  cognitions. 

Take  the  sum  —  the  mighty  whole  — 
Man,  tliis  sovereign  Protean  creature, 

Follow  the  all-embracing  soul. 

If  you  can,  through  form  and  feature. 

Whence  it  came  in  vain  you  guess, 
Where  it  goes  you  cannot  measure, 

And  its  depths  are  fathomless  ; 
And  exhaustless  flows  its  treasure. 

And  its  essence  holds  the  world 
In  abeyance  and  solution, 

For  the  gods  themselves  are  furled 
In  its  mystic  involution. 


THE  COAL-FIRE. 


Co:me,  we  '11  light  the  parlor  fire ; 

Winter  sets  in  sharp  and  rough. 
Wood  is  dear,  but  coal 's  provided, 

For  three  months,  I  think,  enough. 
Bring  one  hod  of  Lackawanna, 

One  of  Sidney's  softer  kind, 
Mix  them  well  —  clap  on  the  blower, 

Let  the  grate  outroar  the  wind. 


See  —  they  are  coming  —  the  guests  I  expected, 

Not  a  man's  party,  o'er  punch  and  cigars  ; 
Sexes  must  blend  in  the  friends  I've  selected, 

Moonlight  must  mellow  the  glittering  stars. 
Soon  will  it  kindle,  the  blithe  conversation, 

Spirits  to  spirits  responsively  fit ; 
Men  with  their  logic  and  grave  moderation. 

Women  with  sentiment,  gossip  and  wit. 


Now  the  softly  flaming  Sidney 
Mixes  with  tlie  anthracite  ; 


102  THE  COAL-FIRE. 

Quickens  all  its  slow-paced  ardor 
With  a  fluttering  glow  and  light ; 

"While  their  heat  and  radiance  blended 
Flash  in  gleams  of  red  and  blue, 

Filling  all  the  room  with  sunshine, 
Gaily  sparkling  up  the  flue. 

4. 

Lonely  was  Adam  till  Eve  came  to  cheer  him  — 

Came  to  commingle  her  warmth  with  liis  light. 
Man  is  a  fossil  till  woman  comes  near  him, 

A  rose  on  his  brier  —  a  moon  to  his  night. 
Then  when  the  tenderer  feminine  color 

Rims  the  hard  stalk  with  its  delicate  gleams, 
All  his  best  life  gi'owing  sweeter  and  fuller 

"Wakes  in  the  glow  of  those  holier  beams. 

5. 

Hard  and  soft  in  cordial  union 

Now  have  fused,  like  molten  wax. 
Each  a  temper  gives  and  borrows  — 

Each  the  half  the  other  lacks. 
Should  they  lose  their  flames  and  smoulder 

"With  a  dull  and  sullen  light, 
Stir  them  up  —  the  sparlcing  Sidney 

Soon  Avill  start  the  anthracite. 


THE  COAL-FIRE.  103 

6. 

What  —  have  my  guests  then  exhausted  their  topics  ? 

Why  is  this  lull  in  the  murmur  of  tongues  ? 
Where  is  that  breath  from  the  flowery  tropics  ? 

Lead  to  the  piano  our  empress  of  songs ! 
Music  shall  stir  us  to  harmonies  hidden, 

Flooding  to  rapture  like  beakers  of  wine. 
Stories  shall  move  us  to  laughter  unbidden  ; 

Laughter  like  music  is  something  divine. 

7. 

Ah,  't  is  midnight !     Are  you  going  ? 

Parties  will  break  up  so  soon. 
Count  not  hours  so  swiftly  flowing, 

Heed  not  the  high  wintry  moon. 
One  more  song  before  we  sever, 

And  the  cinders  turn  to  white ; 
One  old  story,  good  as  ever  ! 

No  ?     Too  late  ?     Ah,  well  —  good  night ! 


Now  they  have  gone  with  the  pale  dying  embers. 

Here  in  my  parlor,  still  cosy  and  warm 
With  the  glow  of  the  hearth,   how  my  fancy  remem- 
bers 
Each    guest    of    the    evening  —  each    talent    and 
charm ;  — 


104  THE  COAL-FIRE. 

The  slow-burning  fervors  of  masculine  reason, 
The  swrf t-glancing  flame  of  the  feminine  heart ; 

And  I  vow  that  no  fire  shall  be  lit  at  this  season, 
But  coal  of  each  sex  shall  contribute  its  part. 


TWO  VIEWS  OF  IT. 

Before  the  daybreak,  in  the  murky  night 
My  chanticleer,  half  dreaming,  sees  the  light 
Stream  from  my  window  on  his  perch  below, 
And  taking  it  for  dawn  he  needs  must  crow. 

Wakeful  and  sad  I  shut  my  book,  and  smile 
To  think  my  lonely  vigil  should  beguile 
The  silly  fowl.     Alas,  I  find  no  ray 
Within  my  lamp  or  heart,  of  dawning  day. 


OLD  AND  YOUNG. 

1. 

They  soon  grow  old  who  grope  for  gold 
In  marts  where  all  is  bought  and  sold  ; 
Who  live  for  self,  and  on  some  shelf 
In  darkened  vaults  hoard  up  their  pelf 
Cankered  and  crusted  o'er  with  mould. 
For  them  their  youth  itself  is  old. 


They  ne'er  grow  old  who  gather  gold 
Where  spring  awakes  and  flowers  unfold ; 
Where  suns  arise  in  joyous  skies, 
And  fill  the  soul  within  their  eyes. 
For  them  the  immortal  bards  have  sung, 
For  them  old  age  itself  is  young. 


THE  VICTORIES  OF  PEACE. 

1. 

GoifE  is  the  tempest  that  clouded 
The  land  with  its  dark  desolation. 

Out  from  the  paU  that  enshrouded 
Leaps  the  new  strength  of  the  nation. 

2. 

Never  again  shall  the  cannon 
Roar  with  their  terrible  voicing, 

Save  where  the  free  flag  and  pennon 
Wave  o'er  a  country  rejoicing. 

3. 

Boast  not  when  musketry  rattles 

O'er  corpses  of  landsmen  and  seamen. 

Gams  that  are  greater  than  battles 
Come  with  the  ballots  of  freemen. 

4. 

Praise  ye  the  peace  that  engenders 
Trust  in  a  people  enlightened  ; 

Honor  to  valiant  defenders, 

Hope  for  the  days  that  have  brightened. 


SUMMER  DAWN. 

Some  summer  mornings  —  when  you've  taken  tea 
Too  late  the  night  before  —  perhajis  you'll  see, 
If  at  some  Berkshire  farmhouse  far  away 
You  chance  to  wake  while  yet  the  sky  is  gray, 
A  glory,  to  your  landscape-painter  men 
Unknown,  yet  worthy  of  a  poet's  pen. 

Look  from  your  window.     Long  gray  banks  of  cloud 

The  fields,  the  hills,  the  distant    view  enshroud. 

Faint  stars  still  glimmer  in  the  heavens  above. 

Below  dim  shapes  of  fog  o'er  stream  and  grove 

Hang  wreathing,  shifting  in  the  sluggish  breeze. 

Are  yonder  shadows  mist,  or  mist-clad  trees  ? 

For  wliat  is  cloud  and  what  is  land  no  eye 

(Sleepy  at  least  like  yours)  can  yet  descry. 

And  now  the  rushing  streams,  by  day  unheard, 

You  hear,  and  now  the  twitter  of  a  bird. 

And  now  another,  till  at  last  the  hills 

And  woods  are  all  alive  with  fugues  and  trills. 

The  sheej)  bej;in  to  bleat,  the  cows  to  low ; 

Three  hoarse,  young  roosters  try  their  best  to  crow, 


SUMMER  DAWN.  109 

Responding  to  some  thirsty,  quacking  duck, 

Or  hen  who  folds  her  cliicks  with  motherly  cluck. 

Now  morning  spreads  apace.     The  stars  are  drowned. 

Trees  loom  above  the  fog  ;  and  all  around 

The  landscape  is  transfigured  in  the  light 

Of  pearly  skies.     Westward  tlie  wings  of  Night 

Are  folded  as  she  steals  unseen  away. 

Now  in  the  far  northeast  an  amber  gray 

Gleams  under  bars  of  long  dark-penciUed  cloud. 

The  crows  above  the  woods  are  cawing  loud. 

Brighter  and  brighter  up  the  dewy  slope 

The  coming  sunrise  floods  the  lands  with  hope. 

The  clouds  from  north  to  south  begin  to  blush. 

Old  Graylock  answers  with  a  rosy  flush. 

One  mountain  peak  looms  up  with  crimsoned  sides  ; 

A  moment  more,  and  in  the  mist  it  hides. 

And  now  the  valleys  catch  the  sun  below, 

And  elms  and  barn-roofs  redden  in  the  glow. 

O  for  a  pencU  rapid  as  the  light 

To  paint  the  glories  bursting  on  the  sight ! 

Making  the  plain  New  England  landscape  seem 

The  unfamiliar  scenery  of  a  dream. 

For  this  might  be  in  Arcady  —  my  rhyme 

Some  Eastern  shepherd's  of  the  olden  time. 

Here  might  I  pipe  with  Tityrus  in  the  gi'ove  ; 

Here  to  fair  Amaryllis  wliisper  love  ; 


110  SUMMER  DAWN. 

Here  the  wild  woodland  haunts  of  Dryads  seek  — 

But  what  is  that !     The  locomotive's  shriek 

Calls  me  from  Dreamland  and  the  Arcadian  dawn. 

The  sun  is  up.     The  mystery  is  gone. 

Another  book  of  poesy  the  West 

Has  opened.     Let  the  bards  of  old  go  rest. 


THE  OLD  APPLE- WOMAN. 

A  BROADWAY    LYRIC. 

She  sits  by  the  side  of  a  turbulent  stream 

That  rushes  and  rolls  forever 
Up  and  down  like  a  weary  dream 

In  the  trance  of  a  burning  fever. 

Up  and  down  tlirough  the  long  Broadway 
It  flows  with  its  tiresome  paces  — 

Down  and  up  through  the  noisy  day, 
A  river  of  feet  and  of  faces. 

Seldom  a  drop  of  that  river's  spray 
Touches  her  withered  features  ; 

Yet  still  she  sits  there  day  by  day 
In  the  tlirong  of  her  fellow-creatures. 

Apples  and  cakes  and  candy  to  sell, 

Daily  before  her  lying. 
The  ragged  newsboys  know  her  weU — 

The  rich  never  think  of  buying. 


112  THE  OLD  APPLE-WOMAN. 

Year  in,  year  out,  in  her  dingy  shawl 
The  wind  and  tlie  rain  she  weathers, 

Patient  and  mute  at  her  little  stall ; 
But  few  are  the  coppers  she  gathers. 

Still  eddies  the  crowd  intent  on  gain. 

Each  for  himself  is  striving 
With  selfish  heart  and  seething  hrain  — 

An  endless  hurry  and  driving. 

The  loud  carts  rattle  in  thunder  and  dust ; 

Gay  Fashion  sweeps  by  in  its  coaches. 
With  a  vacant  stare  she  mumbles  her  crust, 

She  is  past  complaints  and  reproaches. 

Still  new  faces  and  still  new  feet  — 
The  same  yet  changing  forever ; 

They  jostle  along  through  the  weary  street, 
The  waves  of  the  human  river. 

Withered  and  dry  like  a  leafless  bush 
That  clings  to  the  bank  of  a  torrent, 

Year  in,  year  out,  in  the  whirl  and  the  rush, 
She  slto,  of  the  city's  current. 

The  shrubs  of  the  garden  will  blossom  again 
Though  far  from  the  flowing  river ; 

But  the  spring  returns  to  her  in  vain  — 
Its  bloom  has  nothing  to  give  her. 


THE  OLD  APPLE-WOMAN.  113 

Yet  in  her  heart  there  buds  the  hope 

Of  a  Father's  love  and  pity ; 
For  her  the  clouded  skies  shall  ope, 

And  the  gates  of  a  heavenly  city. 


THE  WEATHER-PROPHET. 

A  FABLE. 

"  What  can  the  matter  be  with  the  thermometer  ? 
Is  it  the  sun  or  the  moon  or  the  comet,  or 
Something  broke  loose  in  the  old  earth's  pedometer  ?  " 
Thus  in  his  study  a  weather  philosopher 
Mused  —  every  minute  more  puzzled  and  cross  over. 
Wind-charts  and  notes  he  proceeded  to  toss  over. 
"  Up  in  this  tower,  this  breezy  and  barren  height, 
One  should  be  cool  as  an  elderly  Sharonite. 
Something  is  wrong  with  the  scales  of  my  Fahrenheit. 
'T  was  but  this  morning  the  wind  blowing  northerly 
Roughened  the  tops  of  the  ocean  waves  frothily  ; 
Now  it  has  shifted,  and  seems  to  be  southerly  "  — 
(These  are  not  rhymes  —  I  am  fully  aware  of  it. 
But  the  hot  weather  —  for  he  had  the  care  of  it  — 
Fully  excused  him,  and  I  have  no  share  of  it.) 

Time  to  this  sage  was  so  precious  that  never  he 

Ate  at  regular  hour  ;  forever  he 

Seemed  to  be  lost  in  a  weather-wise  reverie. 


THE  WEATHER-PROPHET.  115 

So  a  small  kitchen  the  town-folks  did  make  for  him 
Right  underneath,  where  a  servant  could  bake  for  him, 
Boil  for  him,  cook  up  a  choj)  or  a  steak  for  him, 
So  that  he  need  n't  be  starving  while  measuring 
Rain-storms  and  calms  that  the  heavens  were  treasuring. 
'T  was  a  bright  thought  which  they  took  a  great  pleas- 
ure in  ; 
For  't  was  the  weather  that  made  the  gi-eat  theme  for 

them. 
Tliis  was  their  day-talk  and  this  their  night's  dream  for 

them. 
Here  was  the  man  who  could  skim  the  sky's  cream  for 

them  ; 
Thousands  of  miles  away  see  a  cloud-macula  — 
Tell  what  was  coming  in  language  oracular  — 
Translate  his  science  in  common  vernacular. 
Quite  independent  of  housekeeping  syndicates 
He  could  pronounce  what  the  weather-glass  indicates 
Long  ere  old  Boreas  had  opened  his  windy  gates. 
Knew  all  the  signs  from  the  Crab  to  Aquarius, 
Shifting  or  permanent  —  single  or  various  ; 
Bright  signs  that  gladden  us,  dark  signs  that  weary  us. 
Versed  in  the  trade-winds  and  currents  could  spy  a  way 
How  a  storm-centre  in  Texas  or  Iowa 
Might  prove  a  cyclone  or  peaceably  die  away. 
Skilled  in  all  secrets  of  meteorology. 
Clear  in  his  miiid  as  that  H  I  should  follow  G. 
If  he  made  blunders  he  made  no  apology. 


116  THE  WEATHER-PROPHET. 

He  was  the  boldest  of  Old  Probabilities  ; 
Scorned  all  assistance  and  short-hand  facilities. 
Ah,  what  a  thing  to  have  genius  and  skill  it  is  ! 
Pity  if  he  should  be  forced  to  take  off  his  eye  ; 
Leave  for  a  dinner  his  notes  to  a.  novice  eye  ! 
Food  was  a  trifle  for  one  who  could  prophesy. 
So  like  the  prophet  of  old  when  the  city  he 
Left  for  the  woods,  and  the  ravens  had  pity,  he 
Found  himself  served  by  a  black-coat  committee. 

Now  while  engrossed  in  his  figures,  not  dreaming  it, 
Bridget  below  in  the  kitchen  was  steaming  it ; 
Making  the  building  so  hot  that  ice-cream  in  it 
Melted  like  butter.     Her  stove  and  the  range  in  it 
Cooking   his    dinner  —  though  this    may   seem  strange 

in  it  — 
Was  the  sole  reason  the  air  liad  a  change  in  it. 
Over  his  figures  his  brow  getting  rigid,  lie 
Kept  at  his  task,  never  thinking  of  Bridgety  — 
Growing  eacli  minute  more  fussy  and  fidgety. 
Up  througli  the  speaking-tube  rushed  the  hot  air  on  him, 
Bringing  the  steam  of  the  boiler  to  bear  on  him. 
So  with  a  mystified  sort  of  despair  on  him 
Soon  he  proceeded  to  write  and  to  scratch  away, 
And  by  liis  telegraph  sent  a  despatch  away  — 
(Never  before  was  Old  Prob  so  infatue) 
Saying  —  '•  It  seems  by  my  Aeroscopical 
Great  heats  with  thunder  will  soon  be  the  topic  all  — 


THE  WEATHER-PROPnET.  117 

Weather,  in  short,  most  decidedly  tropical. 

Can  it  be  sun-spots  ?     Volcanic  impurities 

Caused  by  a  meteor  bursting  ?     I  'm  sure  it  is 

Something  abnormal  —  but  very  obscure  it  is  ! 

Possibly  something  may  ail  my  thermometer  ; 

Possibly  't  is  the  effect  of  the  comet,  or 

Something  broke  loose  in  the  old  Earth's  pedometer." 

MORAL. 

Prophets  are  struck  now  and  then  with  insanity. 
Ever  since  Adam  man's  measureless  vanity 
Thinks  his  own  mood  is  the  mind  of  humanity. 


OMAR   KHAYYAM. 

Reading  In  Omar  till  the  thoughts  that  burned 
Upon  his  pages  seemed  to  be  inurned 
Within  me  in  a  silent  fire,  my  pen 
By  instinct  to  his  flowing  metre  turned. 

Vine-crowned  free-thinker  of  thy  Persian  clime  — 
Brave  bard  whose  daring  thought  and  mystic  rhyme 

Through  English  filter  trickles  down  to  us 
Out  of  the  lost  springs  of  an  olden  time  — 

Baffled  by  life's  enigmas,  like  the  crowd 
Who  strove  before  and  since  to  see  the  cloud 

Lift  from  the  mountain  pinnacles  of  faith  — 
We  honor  still  the  doubts  thou  hast  avowed, 

And  fain  would  round  the  half-truth  of  thy  dream ; 
And  fain  let  in  —  if  so  we  might  —  a  beam 

Of  purer  light  through  windows  of  the  soul, 
Dividing  things  that  are  from  things  that  seem. 


OMAR  KHA  YYAM.  119 

True,  true,  brave  poet,  in  thy  cloud  involved, 
The  riddle  of  the  world  stood  all  unsolved  ; 

And  we  who  boast  our  broader  views  stiU  grope 
Too  oft  like  thee,  though  centuries  have  revolved. 

Yet  tliis  we  know.     Thy  symbol  of  the  jar 
Suits  not  our  western  manhood,  left  to  mar 

Or  make,  in  part,  the  clay  't  is  moulded  of : 
And  the  soul's  freedom  is  its  fateful  star. 

Not  like  thy  ball  thrown  from  the  player's  hand 
Inert  and  passive  on  a  yielding  strand  ; 

Or  if  a  ball,  the  rock  whence  it  rebounds 
Proves  tha,t  e'en  this  some  license  may  command. 

But  though  thy  mind,  which  measured  Jove  and  Mars, 
Lay  fettered  from  the  Unseen  by  bolts  and  bars 

Of  circumstance,  one  truth  thy  spirit  saw, 
The  mystery  spanning  life  and  earth  and  stars. 

Dervish  and  tlareatening  dogma  were  thy  foes. 
The  question  though  unanswered  still  arose ; 

And  through  the  revel  and  the  wine-cups  still 
The    honest    thought,    "  Who   knows,    but    One  —  who 
knows  ?  " 

And  as  I  read  again  each  fervent  line 

That  smiles  through  sighs,  and  drips  with  fragrant  wine ; 


120  OMAR  KHAYYAM. 

And  Vedder's  thoughtful  muse  has  graced  the  verse 
With  added  jewels  from  the  artist's  mine  — 

I  read  a  larger  meaning  in  the  sage, 
A  modern  comment  on  a  far-off  age  ; 

And  take  the  truth,  and  leave  the  error  out 
That  casts  its  light  stain  on  the  Asian  page. 


LONGFELLOW. 

Across  the  sea  the  swift  sad  message  darts 

And  beats  with  sudden  pang  against  our  hearts. 

Under  the  elm-trees  in  his  homestead  old 

The  Laureate  of  our  land  lies  dead  and  cold ; 

Wept  by  the  love  of  friends,  and  crowned  with  fame ; 

Revered  ])y  youth  and  age,  his  well-known  name 

Caught  in  fast-circling  whispers,  sad  and  low, 

In  streets  where  noisy  crowds  move  too  and  fro  — 

*'  Can  it  be  true  that  he  is  dead  —  is  dead  ?  " 

Life  seemed  to  love  that  noble,  silvery  head, 

And  youth  still  lingered  in  the  kindly  eyes 

Now  closed,  alas,  to  all  beneath  the  skies  ! 

No  more  across  the  fields  by  Charles's  stream 

Those  eyes  shall  see  their  well-loved  landscape  gleam. 

No  more  the  treasured  books  upon  his  shelves 

Suggest  the  visions  rarer  than  themselves. 

No  friends  around  his  hospitable  fire 

Hear  the  last  touches  of  his  graceful  lyre. 

The  coming  spring  will  flush  with  j)urple  bloom 
His  lilacs,  and  waft  in  their  sweet  perfume ; 


122  LONGFELLOW. 

His  roses  unregarded  drop  away  ; 
Unheard  the  oriole's  warble  through  the  day ; 
Unmarked  the  bees'  low  hum  from  flower  to  flower, 
The  dial's  shade,  the  sunshine  and  the  shower. 
Yet  from  the  garden  of  his  thoughts  and  deeds 
Still  will  his  poems  fly  like  winged  seeds. 
And  far  and  wide,  through  city,  plain  and  hUl, 
Borne  to  a  thousand  firesides,  bloom  and  fill 
The  people's  hearts,  and  touch  to  issues  fine 
Of  aspiration  human  and  divine. 

Paris,  March  28,  1882. 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

Out  of  the  cloud  that  dimmed  his  sunset  light, 
Into  the  unknown  fii-mament  withdrawn 

Beyond  the  mists  and  shadows  of  the  night, 

We  mourn  the  friend  and  teacher  who  has  gone. 

As  in  the  days  of  old  when  Plato  freed 

The  Athenian  youths  into  a  heave  nlier  sphere, 

Long  will  the  age  with  reverence  hear  and  heed 
The  sweet  deep  music  of  our  poet-seer. 

For  to  his  eye  all  objects  and  events 

Spoke  a  symbolic  language  ;  and  his  mind 

Pierced  with  the  poet's  vision  through  the  dense 
Dull  siu'face  to  the  larger  truth  behind. 

And  yet  no  solitary  mystic  trained 

To  spin  a  metaphysic  web  was  he ; 
But  open-eyed  to  all  that  life  contained, 

And  the  broad  earth,  of  living  harmony. 

Nature  adopted  him  from  boyhood's  hour. 

The  pines,  the  elms,  the  willows  knew  him  well. 


124       RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

The  lonely  streams  where  blushed  the  cardinal-flower, 
And  where  the  shy  Rhodora's  petals  fell. 

And  well  his  mother's  lore  he  loved  and  learned ; 

His  master-hand  her  crudest  stuff  refined. 
All  that  she  gave  he  back  to  her  returned 

Woven  with  figures  of  the  shaping  mind. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  hiU-tops  where  he  met 

The  sunrise  still  the  livery  put  on 
Of  nobler  days,  and  never  could  forget 

The  Syrian  splendors  of  the  poet's  dawn. 

And  books  to  him  unfolded  all  their  store  ; 

AVliat  soul  was  in  them  he  had  eyes  to  see. 
And  past  and  present  turned  up  golden  ore, 

Transmuted  by  his  mind's  fine  alchemy. 

He  drew  his  circles  of  so  wide  a  sweep 

That  they  encompassed  every  sect  and  creed. 

Beneath  the  thought  which  seemed  to  others  deep 
His  swifter  spirit  dived  with  brilliant  speed. 

His  keen,  clear  intuition  knit  the  threads 

Of  truths  disjoined  in  one  symmetric  whole  ; 

And  barren  wayside  weeds  and  scattered  shreds 
Of  facts  found  mystic  meanings  in  his  soul. 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON.  125 

He  dared  to  ope  tlie  windows  to  the  breeze 

Of  Nature,  when  sectarians  shuddering  frowned, 

While  through  the  close  air  of  their  cloistered  ease 
The  leaves  of  creeds  fell  fluttering  to  the  ground ; 

Yet  lived  to  see  harsh  theologians  change 

From  blind  mistrust  to  love  the  truth  he  taught ; 

And  shallow  wits  gi'ow  dumb  beneath  his  range 
Of  brilliant  apothegm  and  daring  thought. 

Choice  Avords  and  images  like  Shakspeare's  best 
Dropped  from  his  lips  and  waited  on  his  pen. 

His  voice  in  tuneful  eloquence  expressed 

The  manliest  minds  of  Plutarch's  noblest  men. 

For  him  our  Western  world  its  keen,  dry  lore 

Recorded  with  a  stenographic  hand, 
While  the  far  Orient  climes  for  tribute  bore 

The  sci'iptures  old  of  many  a  pagan  land. 

He  saw  the  Soul  whose  breath  all  being  breathes ;  — 
The  Life  that  glows  in  atoms  and  in  suns  ; 

The  Law  that  binds  ;  the  Beauty  that  enwreathes ; 
The  Ideal  that  all  mortal  wit  outruns. 

Yet  close  to  earth  and  common  duties  bound, 
Pledged  to  all  true  and  gracious  tasks  he  stood. 

His  presence  made  a  sunshine  all  around, 
His  daily  life  a  bond  of  brotherhood. 


126       RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

He  needed  not  to  worship  at  a  shrine 

Purer  than  private  hours  might  well  approve. 

His  missal  was  illumed  with  thoughts  divine, 
His  rosary  strung  with  kindly  deeds  of  love. 

Yet  love  and  justice  were  at  one  with  him ; 

And  on  the  base  oppressor's  brow  the  stain 
And  brand  were  laid,  not  in  derision  grim, 

But  sad  and  fateful  as  the  mark  of  Cain. 

Thus,  true  as  needle  to  the  polar  star. 

He  espoused  the  righteous  cause,  rebuked  the  wrong, 
And  flashed  chivalric  'gainst  a  nation's  bar 

Of  precedent,  though  fixed  and  sanctioned  long. 

Poet  and  sage  I  thy  lofty  muse  demands 
An  insight  deeper  than  the  times  attain. 

Across  the  stagnant  pools  and  drifting  sands 
Of  thought  I  see  thee  lilce  a  sacred  fane 

Rise  sunlit  in  the  broad  expanse  of  time  ; 

And  young  and  old  shall  greet  from  far  thy  light, 
And  pilgrims  tui'n  from  many  an  old-world  clime 

To  hail  thy  star-like  dome  of  stainless  white. 

The  Mase  will  know  thee,  and  the  good  will  love. 

The  age  to  come  will  feel  thy  impress  given 
In  all  that  lifts  the  race  a  step  above 

Itself,  and  stamps  it  with  the  seal  of  heaven. 


FREDERICK  HENRY  HEDGE,   D.D. 

ON  HIS  80th  birthday,  dec.    12,  1885. 

"What  lapse  or  accident  of  time 
Can  dull  that  soul's  sonorous  chime 
Which  owns  the  priceless  heritage  — 
Youth's  summer  warmth  in  wintry  age  ? 
The  gods  can  gi-ant  no  rarer  boon 
Than  heart  with  mind  in  genial  tune. 
Through  a  long  life's  vicissitudes 
Unjarred  by  chances  and  by  moods  ; 
A  soul  elastic  and  unworn 
Whose  eve  retains  the  smile  of  morn  ; 
And  all  the  poesy  of  youth 
Is  wedded  to  the  soul  of -truth. 

So  have  I  seen  the  Alpine  glow 
On  hoary  pinnacles  of  snow. 
While  many  a  younger  wilderness 
Of  woods  beneath  lay  colorless 
And  darkling  in  the  twilight  sky, 
Touched  by  no  sunset  alchemy. 


128        FREDERICK  HENRY  HEDGE,  D.D. 

For  some  there  are  whose  youth  is  old 
Long  ere  their  youthful  blood  grows  cold  ; 
And  some  in  age  so  young  that  time, 
Deceived,  still  sees  them  in  their  prime. 

No  form  or  face  that  prophesied 

A  strength  to  after  years  denied  — 

No  spirit  lost  in  aims  that  seem 

The  cloud-land  of  a  worldly  dream  — 

No  head  discrowned  —  no  incomplete 

And  slackened  course  to-day  we  greet 

In  him  whose  fourscore  years  have  spanned 

The  gulfs  of  fact  and  wonder-land  ;  — 

Who  brouglit  the  seeds  of  Europe's  lore 

To  fertilize  our  western  shore  ;  — 

By  pastoral  care,  by  voice  and  pen 

Toiling  to  serve  his  fellow-men  ; 

Who  early  stood  in  freedom's  van. 

And  with  forecasting  eye  outran 

The  cloudy  creeds  that  long  obscured 

The  light  to  later  days  assured. 

What  claim  of  youth  by  word  or  deed 
Can  e'er  dislodge  or  supersede 
The  royal  right  to  place  and  fame 
Earned  by  long  years  of  earnest  aim. 
Of  learning  deep,  of  vision  wide, 
Of  wisdom  to  fit  speech  allied  ; 


FREDERICK  HENRY  HEDGE,  D.  D.  129 

While  all  along  their  downward  trend 
Youth's  earlier  lights  his  steps  attend  ? 
Still  in  the  gloaming  of  his  day 
Lingers  the  glow  that  mocks  decay. 

Friend,  poet,  scholar,  teacher,  sage  ! 
Unshadowed  by  the  mists  of  age, 
Long  may  the  generous  faith  and  thought, 
The  lights  from  the  ideal  caught. 
That  guided  and  inspired  his  youth, 
Shine  clearer  toward  the  perfect  truth. 
And  like  some  minster  tower  whose  grand 
Melodious  bells  ring  o'er  the  land. 
His  voice  be  heard  when  daylight  fails 
Across  the  darkened  hills  and  vales  ; 
And  ere  night's  pall  be  o'er  him  cast, 
His  mellowest  music  be  his  last. 


so  FAE,   SO  NEAR. 

Thou,  so  far,  we  grope  to  grasp  thee  — 

Thou,  so  near,  we  cannot  clasp  thee  — 

Thou,  so  wise,  our  prayers  grow  heedless  - 

Thou,  so  loving,  they  are  needless  ! 

In  each  human  soul  thou  shinest. 

Human-best  is  thy  divinest. 

In  each  deed  of  love  thou  warmest ; 

Evil  into  good  transformest. 

Soul  of  all,  and  moving  centre 

Of  each  moment's  life  we  enter. 

Breath  of  breathing  —  light  of  gladness  — 

Infinite  antidote  of  sadness  ;  — 

All-preserving  ether  flowing 

Through  the  worlds,  yet  ])ast  our  knovring. 

Never  past  our  trust  and  loving, 

Nor  from  thine  our  life  removing. 

Still  creating,  still  inspiring, 

Never  of  thy  creatures  tiring. 

Artist  of  thy  solar  spaces. 

And  thy  humble  human  faces; 

Mighty  glooms  and  splendors  voicing ; 


so  FAR,  SO  NEAR.  131 

In  thy  plastic  work  rejoicing ; 
Through  benignant  law  connecting 
Best  with  best  —  and  all  perfecting, 
Though  all  human  races  claim  thee, 
Thought  and  language  fail  to  name  thee, 
Mortal  lips  be  dumb  before  thee, 
Silence  only  may  adore  thee  ! 


SONNETS. 

TO   E.    P.    C. 
I. 
1. 

The  Summer  goes,  with  all  its  birds  and  flowers ; 

The  Autumn  passes  with  Its  solemn  sky  ; 

The  Winter  comes  again  —  yet  you  and  I 

Know  not  the  old  companionship  once  ours. 

The  twilight  mist  between  us  hangs  and  lowers  ; 

Your  -face  I  see  not  —  voice  I  cannot  hear. 

No  letter  tells  me  you  in  thought  are  near. 

The  west-wind  blows  and  sweeps  away  the  showers, 

But  from  the  west  no  whisper  comes  of  you. 

Friends  press  around  you  in  your  distant  home  — 

(Your  distant  home  I  never  yet  have  seen,) 

And  old  familiar  greetings  still  renew ; 

While  I  with  fancy's  eyes  alone  can  come 

And  peep  unnoted  there  behind  your  screen. 


SONNETS.  133 


n. 


Parted  by  time  and  space  for  many  a  year, 
Yet  ever  longing,  hoping  for  a  day 
When,  heart  to  heart,  the  happy  weeks  shall  stay 
Their  fliglit  for  us.  and  all  our  sky  be  clear 
As  in  our  boyhood's  spring  —  my  brother  dear, 
You  and  I  bide  our  time.     The  buds  of  May 
Shall  blossom  yet  for  us.     What  though  the  gray 
Of  dusky  Autumn  eventide  be  near, 
And  silver  locks  and  beards  have  changed  us  so 
From  what  we  were  —  you  still  to  me  are  young, 
And  I  to  you.     The  fireside  of  our  loves 
Shall  be  our  summer,  bright  as  in  the  glow 
Of  youth,  when  we,  two  blithe  Arcadians,  sung 
And  fluted  in  those  old  Virginia  groves. 


134  SONNETS. 


III. 


3. 

Ah,  happy  time  !  when  music  bound  in  one 
Two  kindred  souls  that  ne'er  were  out  of  tune  : 
When  in  the  porch,  beneath  the  summer  moon, 
Our  supper  o'er,  our  school-boy  lessons  done, 
While  other  lads  were  at  some  boisterous  fun, 
We  trilled  our  Tara's  Hall  or  Bonnie  Doon : 
Or  in  some  fire-lit  wintry  afternoon, 
Our  flutes,  you  first,  I  second,  bravely  won 
Their  winding  path  through  many  a  tough  duet ; 
Nor  cared  for  plaudits  louder  than  the  praise 
Mother  or  sisters,  in  those  simple  days. 
Well  pleased,  bestowed  :   ah,  sweeter  than  we  met 
In  after-life,  from  critics  pledged  to  raise 
Art's  standard  hic^h  as  dome  or  minaret. 


SONNETS.  135 


IV. 


4. 


Friexd,  dear  as  Memory's  joys !  of  life  that 's  past 

A  part,  and  part  of  better  life  to  come, 

If  life  to  come  there  be,  in  some  dear  home 

Beyond  the  rigid  clouds  that  overcast 

Oar  sundered  lives  —  all  that  is  mine  thou  hast ;  — 

All  thoughts,  all  sympathies  ;  — though  far  I  roam 

From  you  —  by  mountains,  streams,  or  ocean's  foam 

Divided  long  —  yet  ever,  first  and  last. 

Our  love  knows  no  division.     In  my  soul 

And  yours,  we  twin-born  spirits  of  one  blood, 

Still,  as  of  old,  are  one.     No  sea  can  roll 

Between  its  league-long  melancholy  flood. 

No  separate  interests,  loves,  or  pressing  cares 

Disturb  the  mutual  trust  our  being  shares. 


136  SONNETS. 


5. 

All  loves  have  frailer  roots  than  loves  that  start 

From  one  ancestral  blood.     The  friends  we  find 

In  youth  pass  on  before  us,  or  behind 

Are  dropped,  or  on  diverging  paths  depart, 

Wliile  branches  from  one  trunk  still  own  one  heart, 

And  bud  and  bear  from  one  maternal  mind. 

Sister  and  brother  need  no  vows  to  bind 

Their  pre-ordained  alliance,  nor  the  art 

Of  lovers  plotting  through  a  thousand  fears 

Lest  love,  of  passion  born,  should  fade  or  change  ; 

Nor  dread  the  undermining  drip  of  years; 

Nor  stand  on  forms  that  other  souls  estrange. 

Such  love  is  ours,  and  theirs  who  bear  our  name, 

Born  in  the  honored  home  from  which  we  came. 


SONNETS.  137 


VI. 


6. 


Ah,  many  a  time  our  memory  slips  aside 
And  leaves  the  round  of  present  cares  and  joys, 
To  live  again  the  time  when  we  were  boys ; 
To  call  our  parents  back  with  love  and  j^ride ; 
To  see  again  the  dear  ones  who  have  died ; 
To  dream  once  more  amid  the  household  toys, 
The  sports,  the  jests,  the  masquerades,  the  noise, 
The  blaze  and  sparkle  of  the  wood  fireside  ; 
The  books,  the  drawings,  and  the  merry  press 
Around  the  blithe  tea-board  ;  the  evenings  long ; 
Rattling  backgammon  and  still,  solemn  chess ; 
And  best  of  all  when  instrument  and  song 
Bore  us  to  visionary  lands  and  streams, 
And  crowned  our  nights  with  coronals  of  dreams. 


138  SONNETS. 


vn. 


7. 

Those  times  are  gone,  that  circle  thinned  away, 

And  we  who  live,  now  scattered  far  and  wide, 

Each  in  our  separate  centres  fixed  abide. 

Round  which  new  interests  now  revolve  and  play 

In  separate  loves  and  duties  day  by  day. 

Yet,  by  the  records  of  old  loves  allied. 

We  clasp  each  other's  hands  beneath  the  tide 

Of  time,  and  cling  together  as  we  may. 

Even  so  beneath  the  sea  the  throbbing  wires 

That  bind  the  sundered  continents  in  one, 

In  space-aiuiihilating  pulses  thrill 

With  swift-winged  words  and  purpose  and  desires. 

Our  earlier  visions  haunt  our  memories  still, 

And  age  grows  young  in  friendship's  quickening  sun. 


SONNETS.  139 


VIII. 


You  were  not  born  to  hide  such  gifts  as  yours 

'Neath  dreary  law-books,  nor  amid  the  dust 

And  dry  routine  of  desks  to  sit  and  rust 

Where  clerks  plod  through  their  tasks  on  office-floors. 

Let  duller  laborers  drudge  through  daily  chores, 

And  do  what  fate  for  them  makes  fit  and  just. 

You  bravely  do  your  work  because  you  must ; 

And  when  released,  your  genius  sings  and  soars. 

Such  humor  from  your  pen  hath  ever  run 

In  pictures  or  in  letters  all  unforced, 

As  Hogarth,  Lamb,  or  Dickens  might  have  done  ; 

Finer  than  many  a  noted  wit,  who,  horsed 

Upon  the  people's  favor,  waves  his  blade 

Like  Harlequin,  and  makes  his  jests  his  trade. 


140  SONNETS. 


IX. 


9. 

I  NEEDS  must  praise  the  natural  gifts  of  one 
Who  praises  not  himself,  nor  seeks  for  praise  ; 
Too  unambitious  for  these  emulous  days, 
When  each  small  talent  seeks  the  public  sun, 
And  victors'  wreaths  are  worn  before  they  are  won. 
So  true  to  conscience  that  he  oft  betrays 
Himself,  o'ervaluing  standards  others  raise, 
Or  underrating  what  himself  has  done. 
Who  might  have  risen  in  letters  or  in  art ; 
But  faithful  to  the  work  he  early  chose, 
To  that  he  gave  his  time,  if  not  his  heart. 
Whose  genuine  self  begins  when  labors  close  — 
When  with  his  friends,  or  books,  or  pen,  apart, 
His  cheerful  sunset  light  far  round  him  glows. 


SONNETS.  141 


X. 


10. 

Forgive  —  that  thus  the  trumpet  I  have  blown 
You  never  sounded  —  never  cared  to  hear. 
The  workl,  I  know,  can  give  no  smile  or  tear 
To  those  whose  story  it  has  never  known. 
But  must  the  poet  tune  his  lyre  alone 
To  themes  of  passionate  hope  or  love  or  fear,  — 
Or  thoughts  of  loftier  flight,  yet  shun  the  clear 
Affection  of  two  brothers'  hearts  at  one  ? 
If  gallant  sonneteers  may  sing  the  light 
And  radiant  demoiselles  of  olden  time  — 
If  in  their  melodies  tliey  may  not  slight 
The  fleeting  passion  of  their  youthful  prime, 
The  old  true  loves  from  boyhood  ever  bright 
Are  surely  worth  the  tribute  of  a  rhyme. 


142  SONNETS. 


SEVEN  WONDERS  OF  THE  WORLD. 
XI. 

THE   PRIXTIXG-PRESS. 

In  boyhood's  clays  we  read  with  keen  delight 

How  young  Aladdin  rubbed  his  lamp  and  raised 

The  towering  Djin  whose  form  his  soul  amazed, 

Yet  who  was  pledged  to  serve  him  day  and  night. 

But  Gutenberg  evoked  a  giant  sprite 

Of  vaster  power,  when  Europe  stood  and  gazed 

To  see  him  rub  his  types  with  ink.     Then  blazed 

Across  the  lands  a  glorious  shape  of  light, 

Who  stripped  the   cowl   from   priests,  the   crown   from 

kings, 
And  hand  in  hand  with  Faith  and  Science  wrought 
To  free  the  struggling  spirit's  limed  wings, 
And  guard  the  ancestral  throne  of  sovereign  Thought. 
The  world  was  dumb.     Then  first  it  found  its  tongue 
And  spake  —  and  heaven  and  earth  in  answer  rung. 


SONNETS.  143 


XII. 

THE  ocea:5^^  steamer. 

With  streaming  pennons,  scorning  sail  and  oar, 
With  steady  tramp  and  swift  revolving  wheel, 
And  even  pulse  from  throbbing  heart  of  steel, 
She  plies  her  arrowy  course  from  shore  to  shore. 
In  vain  the  siren  calms  her  steps  allure  ; 
In  vain  the  billows  thunder  on  her  keel ; 
Her  giant  form  may  toss  and  rock  and  reel 
And  shiver  in  the  wintry  tempest's  roar ; 
The  calms  and  storms  alike  her  pride  can  spurn. 
True  to  the  day  she  keeps  her  appointed  time. 
Long  leagues  of  ocean  vanish  at  her  stern  — 
She  drinks  the  air,  and  tastes  another  clime, 
Where  men  their  former  wonder  fast  unlearn, 
Which  hailed  her  coming  as  a  thing  sublime. 


144  SONNETS. 


XIII. 

THE   LOCOMOTIVE. 

Whirling  along  its  living  freight,  it  came, 
Hot,  panting,  fierce,  yet  docile  to  command  — 
The  roaring  monster,  blazing  through  the  land 
Athwart  the  night,  with  crest  of  smoke  and  flame  ; 
Like  those  weird  bulls  Medea  learned  to  tame 
By  sorcery,  yoked  to  plough  the  Colchian  strand 
In  forced  obedience  under  Jason's  hand. 
Yet  modern  skill  outstripped  this  antique  fame, 
"When  o'er  our  plains  and  through  the  rocky  bar 
Of  hills  it  pushed  its  ever-lengthening  line 
Of  iron  roads,  with  gain  far  more  divine 
Than  when  the  daring  Argonauts  from  far 
Came  for  the  golden  fleece,  which  like  a  star 
Hung  clouded  in  the  dragon-guarded  shrine. 


SONNETS.  145 


xrv. 

THE  TELEGRAPH  AND  TELEPHONE. 

Fleeter  than  time,  across  the  Continent, 

Through  unsunned  ocean  depths,  from  beach  to  beach, 

Around  the  rolling  globe  Thought's  couriers  reach. 

The  new-tuned  earth  like  some  vast  instrument 

Tingles  from  zone  to  zone  ;  for  Art  has  lent 

New  nerves,  new  pulse,  new  motion  —  all  to  each, 

And  each  to  all,  in  swift  electric  speech 

Bound  by  a  force  unwearied  and  unspent. 

Now  lone  Katahdin  talks  with  Caucasus  ; 

The  Arctic  ice-fields  with  the  sultry  South, 

The  sun-bathed  palm  thrills  to  the  pine-tree's  call. 

We  for  all  realms  were  made,  and  they  for  us. 

For  all  there  is  a  soul,  an  ear,  a  mouth  ; 

And  Time  and  Space  are  naught.     The  mind  is  all. 


146  SONNETS. 


XV. 

THE   PHOTOGRAPH. 

Phcebus  Apollo,  from  Olympus  driven, 
Lived  with  Admetus,  tending  herds  and  flocks 
And  strolling  o'er  the  pastures  and  the  rocks 
He  found  his  life  much  duller  than  in  Heaven. 
For  he  had  left  his  bow,  his  songs,  his  lyre, 
His  divinations  and  his  healing  skill, 
And  as  a  serf  obeyed  his  master's  will. 
One  day  a  new  thought  waked  an  old  desire. 
He  took  to  painting,  with  his  colors  seven, 
The  sheep,  the  cows,  the  faces  of  the  swains, 
All  shapes  and  hues  in  forests  and  on  plains. 
These  old  sun-pictures  all  are  lost,  or  given 
Away  among  the  gods.     Man  owns  but  half 
The  Sun-god's  secret  —  in  the  Photograph. 


SONNETS.  147 


XVI. 

THE   SPECTROSCOPE. 

All  honor  to  that  keen  Promethean  soul 

Who  caught  the  prismie  hues  of  Jove  and  Mars, 

And  from  the  glances  of  the  daedal  stars, 

And  from  the  fiery  sun,  the  secret  stole 

That  all  are  parts  of  one  primeval  Whole,  — 

One  substance  beaming  through  Creation's  bars 

Consent  and  peace,  amid  the  chemic  wars 

Of  gases  and  of  atoms.     Yonder  roll 

The  planets ;  yonder,  baffling  human  thought. 

Suns,  systems,  all  whose  burning  hearts  are  wooed 

To  one  confession  —  so  hath  Science  caught 

Those  eye-beams  frank,  whose  speech  cannot  delude,  ■ 

How  of  one  stuff  our  mortal  earth  is  wrought 

With  stars  in  their  divine  infinitude. 


148  SONNETS. 


XVII. 

THE   MICKOPHONE. 

The  small  enlarged,  the  distant  nearer  brought 

To  sight,  made  marvels  in  a  denser  age. 

But  Science  turns  with  every  year  a  page 

In  the  enchanted  volume  of  her  thought. 

The  wizard's  wand  no  longer  now  is  sought. 

Yet  with  a  cunning  toy  the  Archimage 

May  hear  from  Rome  Vesuvius'  thunders  rage, 

And  earthquake  mutterings  underground  are  caught, 

Alike  with  trivial  sounds.     Would  there  might  rise 

Some  spiritual  seer,  some  i^rophet  wise. 

Whose  tactile  vision  would  avert  the  woes 

Born  of  conflicting  forces  in  the  state  ;  — 

Some  listener  to  the  deep  volcanic  throes 

Below  the  surface  —  ere  we  cry,  ''  Too  late  !  " 


SONNETS.  149 


XVIII. 

THE    FIRESIDE. 

With  what  a  live  intelligence  the  flame 

Glows  and  leaps  up  in  spires  of  flickering  red, 

And  turns  the  coal  just  now  so  dull  and  dead 

To  a  companion  —  not  like  those  who  came 

To  weaiy  me  with  iteration  tame 

Of  idle  talk  In  shallow  fancies  bred. 

From  dreary  moods  the  cheerful  Ihe  has  led 

My  thoughts,  which  now  their  maiflier  strength  reclaim. 

And  like  some  frozen  thing  that  feels  the  sun 

Through  solitudes  of  winter  penetrate, 

The  frolic  currents  through  my  senses  run  ; 

Y\  hile  fluttering  whispers  soft  and  intimate 

Out  of  the  ruddy  firelight  of  the  grate 

Make  talk,  love,  music,  poetry  in  one. 


150  SONNETS. 


XIX. 

THE   lady's    SOX>rET.      TWILIGHT. 

I  KNOW  not  why  I  chose  to  seem  so  cold 

At  parting  from  you  ;  for  since  you  are  gone 

I  see  you  still  —  I  hear  each  word,  each  tone  ; 

And  what  I  hid  from  you  I  wish  were  told. 

,1,  who  was  ])roud  and  shy,  seem  now  too  hold 

To  write  these  lines  —  and  yet  must  write  to  own 

I  would  unsay  my  words,  now  I  'm  alone. 

From  my  dark  window  ovit  upon  the  wold 

I  look.     'Twas  through  yon  pathway  to  the  west 

I  watched  you  going,  wliile  the  sunset  light 

Went  with  you  —  and  a  shadow  seemed  to  fall 

Upon  my  heart.     And  now  I  cannot  rest 

Till  I  have  written ;  for  I  said,  "  To-night 

I  '11  send  your  answer."     Now  I  've  told  you  all. 


SONNETS.  151 


XX. 

THE   lover's   sonnet.      MIDNIGHT. 

I  WAITED  through  the  night,  while  summer  blew 
The  breath  of  roses  through  my  darkened  room. 
The  wliispering  breeze  just  stirred  the  leafy  gloom 
Beyond  the  window.     On  the  lawn  the  dew 
Lay  glistening  in  the  starlight.     No  one  knew 
I  did  not  sleep,  but  waited  here  my  doom 
Or  victory.     I  saw  the  light-house  loom 
Across  the  bay.     The  silence  grew  and  grew, 
And  hour  by  hour  kejit  pace  with  my  suspense. 
Each  rustling  noise,  each  passing  footstep  seemed 
The  coming  messenger  I  hoped  yet  feared. 
At  last  a  knock  —  a  throb  —  a  pause  intense  — 
Your  letter  came.     I  read  as  if  I  dreamed. 
Almost  too  great  to  bear  my  bliss  appeared  ! 


152  SONNETS. 


XXI. 

THE    PINES    AND   THE    SEA. 

Beyond  the  low  marsh-meadows  and  the  heach, 

Seen  through  the  lioaiy  trunks  of  windy  pines, 

The  long  bkie  level  of  the  ocean  shines. 

The  distant  surf,  with  hoarse,  complaining  speech, 

Out  from  its  sandy  barrier  seems  to  reach  ; 

And  while  the  sun  behind  the  woods  declines. 

The  moaning  sea  with  sighing  boughs  combines, 

And  waves  and  pines  make  answer,  each  to  each. 

O  melancholy  soul,  whom  far  and  near. 

In  life,  faith,  hope,  the  same  sad  undertone 

Pursues  from  thought  to  thought !  thou  needs  must  hear 

An  old  refrain,  too  much,  too  long  thine  own  : 

'T  is  thy  mortality  infects  thine  ear  ; 

The  mournful  strain  was  in  thyself  alone. 


SONNETS.  153 


XXII. 

PENNYROYAL. 

Heavy  with  cares  no  winnowing  hand  could  sift, 

Wrajit  in  a  sadness  never  to  be  told, 

As  o'er  the  fields  and  through  the  woods  I  strolled, 

Following  with  restless  footstep  but  the  drift 

Of  the  still  August  morn,  so  I  might  shift 

The  scenery  of  my  thoughts,  and  gild  their  old 

Monotonous  fringes  with  a  light  less  cold, 

I  found  the  aromatic  herb,  whose  swift 

And  sweet  associations  bore  me  away 

To  boyhood,  when  beneath  an  oak  like  this 

I  culled  the  fragrant  leaves.     Crude  childhood's  bliss 

Was  in  the  scent ;  but  brighter  smiled  the  day 

For  memories  no  cold  shade  could  overcast  — 

Safe  'mid  the  imblighted  treasures  of  the  past. 


154  SONNETS. 


XXIII. 

Beethoven's  fifth  symphony. 

The  mind's  deep  history  here  in  tones  is  wrought, 
The  faith,  the  struggles  of  the  aspiring  soul, 
The  confidence  of  youth,  the  chill  control 
Of  manhood's  doubts  by  stern  experience  taught ; 
Alternate  moods  of  bold  and  timorous  thought, 
Sunshine  and  shadow  —  cloud  and  aureole  ; 
The  failing  foothold  as  the  shining  goal 
Appears,  and  truth  so  long,  so  fondly  sought 
Is  blurred  and  dimmed.     Again  and  yet  again 
The  exulting  march  resounds.     We  must  win  now ! 
Slowly  the  doubts  dissolve  in  clearer  air. 
Bolder  and  grander  the  triumphal  strain 
Ascends.     Heaven's  light  is  glancing  on  the  brow. 
And  turns  to  boundless  hope  the  old  despair. 


SONNETS.  155 


XXIV. 

THE   SECEDERS. 
1. 

Fab  from  the  pure  Castalian  fount  our  feet 
Have  strayed  away  where  daily  we  unlearn 
How  Truth  is  one  with  Beauty.     For  we  turn 
No  more  to  hear  the  strains  we  sprang  to  greet 
"When  we  were  young,  and  love  and  life  were  sweet 
Before  the  world  had  taught  us  how  to  earn 
Its  haser  wealth,  and  from  our  doors  to  sjxirn 
The  Muse  like  some  poor  vagahond  and  cheat. 
For  we  are  young,  and  did  not  see  the  baits 
That  in  the  distance  lured  us  down  the  roads 
Where  Toil  and  Care  and  Doubt,  those  lurking  fates. 
Subdued  our  pliant  backs  to  alien  loads  ; 
Till  long  since  deadened  to  the  Poet's  tones, 
They  fall  on  us  as  rain  on  logs  and  stones. 


156  SONNETS. 


XXV. 


2. 


Yet  what  were  love,  and  what  were  toil  and  thought, 

And  what  were  life,  bereft  of  Poesy  ? 

Who  lingers  in  a  garden  where  the  bee 

By  no  rich  beds  of  fragrant  flowers  is  caught  — 

A  homely  vegetable  patch  where  naught 

Is  prized  but  for  some  table-caterer's  fee. 

And  Nature  pledged  to  market-ministry  ? 

To  me  another  lore  was  early  taught ; 

And  rather  would  I  lose  the  dear  delights 

Of  eye  and  ear,  than  wilfully  forego    • 

The  power  that  can  transfigure  sounds  and  sights, 

Can  steep  the  world  in  symbols,  and  bestow 

The  free  admittance  to  all  depths  and  heights. 

And  make  dull  earth  a  heaven  of  thought  below. 


SONNETS.  157 


XXVI. 

IN   A   LIBRABT. 
1. 

In  my  friend's  library  I  sit  alone, 

Hemmed  in  by  books.     The  dead  and  living  there, 

Shrined  in  a  thousand  vohimes  rich  and  rare, 

Tower  in  long  rows,  with  names  to  me  unknown. 

A  dim  half-curtained  light  o'er  all  is  thrown. 

A  shadowed  Dante  looks  with  stony  stare 

Out  from  his  dusky  niche.     The  very  air 

Seems  huslied  before  some  intellectual  throne. 

What  ranks  of  gi'and  philosophers,  what  choice 

And  gay  romancers,  what  historians  sage, 

"What  wits,  what  poets,  on  those  crowded  shelves  ! 

All  dumb  forever,  till  the  mind  gives  voice 

To  each  dead  letter  of  each  senseless  page. 

And  adds  a  soul  they  own  not  of  themselves. 


158  SONNETS. 


XXVII. 

2. 

A  iknRACiiE  —  that  man  should  learn  to  fill 

These  little  vessels  with  his  boundless  soul ; 

Should  through  these  arbitrary  signs  control 

The  world,  and  scatter  broadcast  at  his  will 

His  unseen  thought,  in  endless  transcript  still 

Fast  multiplied  o'er  lands  from  pole  to  pole 

By  magic  art ;  and,  as  the  ages  roll, 

StiU  fresh  as  streamlets  from  the  Muses'  hill. 

Yet  in  these  alcoves  tranced,  the  lords  of  thought 

Stand  bound  as  by  enchantment  —  signs  or  words 

Have  none  to  break  the  silence.     None  but  they 

Their  mute  proud  lips  unlock,  who  here  have  brought 

The  key.     Them  as  their  mastei's  they  obey. 

For  them  they  talk'  and  sing  like  uncaged  birds. 


SONNETS.  159 


XXVIII. 

PAST   SORROWS. 

As  tangled  driftwood  barring  up  a  stream 

Against  our  struggling  oars  when  hope  is  high 

To  reach  some  fair  green  island  we  descry 

Lying  beyond  us  in  the  morning's  gleam, 

And  shimmering  like  a  landscape  in  a  dream  — 

Yet  waiting  patiently  the  logs  float  by, 

And  all  our  course  lies  02)en  to  the  eye  — 

So  sorrows  come  and  go.     What  though  they  seem 

A  blight  whose  touch  might  turn  a  young  head  gray, 

Joy  dawns  again.     Hope  beckons  us  before. 

The  tide  that  pressed  against  us  breaks  our  bars  ; 

The  visionary  islands  smile  once  more. 

Life,  with  its  rest  by  night,  its  work  by  day, 

Forgets  the  old  griefs,  and  heals  their  deepest  scars. 


160  SONNETS. 


XXIX. 

LIFE    AXD    DEATH. 
1. 

O  SOLEMX  portal,  veiled  in  mist  and  cloud, 
Where  all  who  haA'e  lived  throng  in,  an  endless  line, 
Forbid  to  tell  by  backward  look  or  sign 
What  destiny  awaits  the  advancing  crowd  ; 
Bourne  crossed  but  once  with  no  return  allowed  ; 
Dumb,  spectral  gate,  terrestrial  yet  divine, 
Beyond  whose  arch  all  powers  and  fates  combine, 
Pledged  to  divulge  no  secrets  of  the  shroud. 
Close,  close  behind  we  step,  and  strive  to  catch 
Some  whisper  in  the  daik,  some  glimmering  ligiit  ; 
Through  circling  whirls  of  thought  intent  to  snatch 
A  drifting  hope  —  a  faith  that  grows  to  sight ; 
And  yet  assured,  whatever  may  befall, 
That  must  be  somehow  best  that  comes  to  all. 


SONNETS.  161 


XXX. 

2. 

Or  endless  sleep  't  will  be,  —  and  that  is  rest, 

Freedom  forever  from  life's  weary  cares  — 

Or  else  a  life  beyond  the  climbing-  stairs 

And  dizzy  pinnacles  of  thought  expressed 

In  sA'mbols  such  as  in  our  mortal  breast 

Are  framed  by  time  and  space  ;  —  life  that  upbears 

The  soul  by  a  law  untried  amid  these  snares 

Of  sense  that  make  it  a  too  willing  guest. 

So  sleep  or  waking  were  a  boon  divine. 

Yet  why  this  inextinguishable  thirst, 

This  hope,  this  faith  that  to  existence  cling  ? 

Nay  e'en  the  poor  dark  chrysalis  some  fine 

Ethereal  creature  prisons,  till  it  burst 

Into  the  unknoAvn  air  on  golden  wing. 


162  SONNETS. 


XXXI. 

3. 

If  death  be  final,  what  is  life,  with  all 

Its  lavish  promises,  its  thwarted  aims, 

Its  lost  ideals,  its  dishonored  claims. 

Its  uncompleted  growth  ?     A  prison  wall, 

Whose  heartless  stones  but  echo  back  our  call ; 

An  epitaph  recording  but  our  names  ; 

A  puppet-stage  where  joys  and  griefs  and  shames 

Furnish  a  demon  jester's  carnival ; 

A  plan  without  a  purpose  or  a  form ; 

A  roofless  temple  ;  an  unfinished  tale. 

And  men  like  madrepores  through  calm  and  storm 

Toil,  die  to  build  a  branch  of  fossil  frail, 

And  add  from  all  their  dreams,  thoughts,  acts,  belief, 

A  few  more  inches  to  a  coral-reef. 


SONNETS.  163 


XXXII. 

4. 

If  at  one  door  stands  life  to  cheat  our  trust, 

And  at  another,  death,  to  mock  because 

We  thought  life's  promise  good  ;  if  all  that  was 

And  is  and  should  be  ends  in  fume  and  dust  — 

Then  let  us  live  for  joy  alone  —  the  rust 

Of  ease  encase  our  minds  —  the  grander  laws 

Of  soids  be  set  aside.     Let  no  man  pause 

To  weigh  between  his  virtue  and  his  lust. 

From  first  to  last  life  baffles  all  our  hopes 

Of  aught  but  present  bliss.     Death  waits  to  mock 

Our  haste  to  indorse  a  visionary  bond. 

Let  pleasure  dance  us  down  earth's  sunny  slopes, 

And  crown  our  heads  with  roses,  ere  the  shock 

Of  thunder  falls.     There  is  no  life  beyond  ? 


164  SONNETS. 


XXXIII. 

5. 

Yet  in  all  facts  of  sense  life  stands  revealed  ; 
And  from  a  thousand  symbols  hope  may  take 
Its  charter  to  escape  the  Stygian  lake, 
And  find  existence  in  an  ampler  field. 
The  streams  by  winter's  icy  breath  congealed 
Flow  when  the  voices  of  the  spring  awake. 
The  electric  current  lives  when  tempests  break 
The  wires.     The  chemic  energies  unsealed 
By  sudden  change,  in  other  forms  sui'vive. 
The  senses  cheat  us  where  the  mind  corrects 
Their  partial  verdict.     More  than  all,  the  heart  ■ 
The  heart  cold  science  counts  not,  is  alive  — 
Of  the  undivided  soul  that  vital-part 
Her  microscopic  eye  in  vain  dissects. 


SONNETS.  165 


XXXIV. 

6. 

So,  heralded  by  Reason,  Faith  may  tread 

The  darkened  vale,  the  dolorous  paths  of  night, 

In  the  great  thought  secure  that  life  and  light 

Flow  from  the  Soul  of  all,  who,  with  the  dead 

As  with  the  living,  is  the  fountain-head. 

And  though  our  loved  and  lost  are  snatched  from  sight, 

Some  unseen  power  will  guide  them  in  their  flight. 

And  to  some  unknown  home  their  steps  are  led. 

Yet  has  no  seer,  by  sacred  visions  fired, 

Disclosed  their  state  to  those  they  leave  behind  ; 

No  holy  prophet,  saint  or  sage  inspired  — 

Save  in  the  magic  lantern  of  the  mind  — 

Seen  in  ecstatic  trance  those  realms  desired : 

And  all  the  oracles  are  dumb  and  blind. 


166  SONNETS. 


XXXV. 

7. 

The  wish  behind  the  thought  is  the  soul's  star 

Of  faith,  and  out  of  earth  we  build  our  heaven. 

Life  to  each  unschooled  child  of  time  has  given 

A  fairy  wand  with  which  he  thinks  to  unbar 

The  dark  gate  to  a  region  vast  and  far, 

Where  all  is  gained  at  length  for  which  he  has  striven- 

All  loss  requited  —  all  offences  shriven  — 

All  toil  o'erpassed  —  effaced  each  battle-scar. 

But  ah !  what  heaven  of  rest  could  countervail 

The  ever  widening  thought  —  the  endless  stress 

Of  action  whereinto  the  heart  is  born  ? 

What  sphere  so  blessed  it  could  overbless 

With  sweets  the  soul,  when  all  such  gifts  must  fail, 

If  from  its  chosen  work  that  soul  were  torn  ? 


SONNETS.  167 


XXXVI. 

8. 

Not  for  a  rapture  unalloyed  I  ask. 

Not  for  a  recompense  for  all  I  miss. 

A  banquet  of  the  gods  in  heavenly  bliss, 

A  realm  in  whose  warm  sunshine  I  may  bask, 

Life  without  discipline  or  earnest  task 

Could  ill  repay  the  unfinished  work  of  this. 

Nay  —  e'en  to  clasp  some  long-lost  Beatrice 

In  bowers  of  paradise  —  the  mortal  mask 

Dropped  from  her  face  now  glorified  and  bright. 

But  I  would  fain  take  up  what  here  I  left 

All  crude  and  incomplete  ;  would  toil  and  strive 

To  regain  the  power  of  which  I  am  bereft 

By  slow  decay  and  death,  with  fuller  light 

To  aid  the  larger  life  that  may  survive. 


168  SONNETS 


XXXVII. 

TO   JOHN    GREENLEAF    WHITTIER. 

Unbidden  to  the  feast  where  friends  have  brought, 
To  greet  thy  seventy  years,  their  wreaths  of  rhyme, 
For  that  thy  form  erect  such  weight  of  time 
Should  bear,  was  never  present  to  my  thought,  — 
Whittier,  I  bring  my  offering,  though  unsought. 
Thou,  first  of  all  our  bards,  hast  rung  the  chime 
Of  souls,  whose  zeal  denounced  a  nation's  crime. 
Thy  fire,  intense  yet  soft,  from  heaven  was  caught. 
Thou  too  the  dear  neglected  chords  hast  wooed 
Of  plain  New  England  life,  and  earned  a  fame 
From  whose  wide  light  thy  modest  nature  shrinks. 
Long  shall  the  land  revere  and  love  thy  name ; 
Long  find  among  thy  songs  the  golden  links 
That  bind  the  world  in  peace  and  brotherhood. 
December  5,  1877. 


SONNETS.  169 


XXXVIII. 

TO   OLIVER   WENDELL   HOLMES.      MT.    70. 

A  FOUNTAIN  in  our  green  New  England  hills 
Sent  forth  a  brook,  whose  music,  as  I  stood 
To  listen,  laughed  and  sang  through  field  and  wood 
With  mingled  melodies  of  joyous  rills. 
Now,  following  where  they  led,  a  river  fills 
Its  channel  with  a  wide  calm  shining  flood 
Still  murmuring  on  its  banks  with  changeful  mood. 
So,  Poet,  sound  thy  "  stops  of  various  quills," 
Where  waves  of  song,  wit,  wisdom  charm  our  ears 
As  in  thy  youth,  and  thoughts  and  smiles  by  turns 
Are  ours,  grave,  gay,  or  tender.     Time  forgets 
To  freeze  thy  dee})ening  stream.     The  stealthy  years 
But  bribe  the  Muse  to  bring  thee  amulets 
That  guard  the  soul  whose  fire  of  youth  still  burns. 
November,  1879. 


170  SONNETS. 


XXXIX. 

BAYARD    TAYLOR. 

Can  one  so  strong  in  hope,  so  rich  in  bloom 
That  promised  fruit  of  nobler  worth  than  all 
He  yet  had  given,  drop  thus  with  sudden  fall  ? 
The  busy  brain  no  more  its  work  resume  ? 
Can  death  for  life  so  versatile  find  room? 
Still  must  we  fancy  thou  canst  hear  our  call 
Across  the  sea  —  with  no  dividing  wall 
More  dense  than  space  to  interpose  its  doom. 
Ah  then  —  farewell,  young-hearted  genial  friend  ! 
Farewell,  true  poet,  who  didst  grow  and  build 
From  thought  to  thought  still  upward  and  still  new. 
Farewell,  unsullied  toiler  in  a  guild 
Where  some  defile  their  hands,  and  where  so  few 
With  aims  as  pure  strive  faitliful  to  the  end. 
1879. 


SONNETS.  171 


XL. 

JOHN  WEISS. 

The  summer  comes  again,  yet  nothing  brings 
Of  him  but  memories  of  that  clear-Ht  eye, 
That  voice,  that  presence  that  can  never  die. 
Fame  o'er  his  dust  no  public  trumpet  rings. 
No  bard  beside  his  grave  his  genius  sings- 
Yet  he  was  one  of  that  brave  company, 
The  apostles  of  the  race  —  the  champion  high 
Of  faith  by  reason  guarded  from  the  slings 
Of  dull  sectarians  and  of  atheist  foes. 
In  him  the  scholar,  teacher,  prophet,  vrit 
And  genial  friend  were  blended  in  one  strain. 
From  his  electric  intellect  arose 
Auroral  lights  in  which  the  past  was  lit. 
And  ^schylus  and  Shakspeare  lived  again. 


172  SONNETS. 


XLI. 

GKORGE    RIPLEY. 

Warm,  generous  and  young  in  heart  and  brain, 

A  wise,   ripe  scholar  of  the  antique  mould. 

Had  he  but  chosen  he  might  have  enrolled 

His  name  among  philosophers  who  gain 

Renown,  and  lead  an  academic  train. 

But  unambitious  in  a  humbler  fold  — 

Humbler  yet  wider  —  he  the  current  told 

Of  others'  thoughts  and  works  in  graceful  strain. 

So  from  his  watch-tower  calm  the  public  mind 

He  charmed  and  wisely  led.     Still  young  in  age, 

And  still  in  fireside  talk  the  cordial  friend, 

He  read  between  the  lines  upon  life's  page 

The  deeper  meaning  those  alone  can  find 

Whose  souls  toward  truth  and  not  its  semblance,  tend. 


SONNETS.  173 


XLII. 


TO    G.    W.    C. 


AUGUST   1,   1846. 

The  day  so  long  remembered  comes  again. 
The  years  have  vanished.     On  the  vessel's  deck 
We  stand  and  wave  adieux,  until  a  speck 
Our  bark  appears  to  friends  whose  eyes  would  fain 
Follow  our  voyage  o'er  the  unknown  main. 
Shadows  of  sails  and  masts  and  rigging  fleck 
The  sunlit  ship.     The  ca2)tain's  call  and  beck 
Hurry  the  cheery  sailors  as  they  strain 
The  windy  sheets  ;  while  we  in  careless  mood 
Gaze  on  the  silver  clouds  and  azure  sea, 
Filled  with  old  ocean's  novel  solitude, 
And  dream  of  that  new  life  of  Italy, 
The  golden  fleece  for  which  we  sailed  away, 
Whose  splendor  freshens  this  memorial  day. 
August  1,  1881. 


174  SONNETS. 


XLni. 

LONDON. 

Black  in  the  midnight  lies  the  City  vast. 

Its  dim  horizon  from  my  window  high 

I  see  shut  in  beneath  a  misty  sky 

Red  with  the  Hght  a  miUion  lamp-fires  cast 

Up  from  the  humming  streets.     And  now  at  last 

With  lessening  roar  the  weary  wheels  go  by. 

At  last  in  sleep  all  discords  swoon  and  die. 

Now  wakes  the  solemn  visionary  Past, 

Peopled  with  spirits  of  the  mighty  dead 

Whose  names  are  London's  glory  and  her  shame  ■ 

Seers,  poets,  heroes,  martyrs  —  deathless  lives 

Long  blazoned  in  the  chronicles  of  fame. 

The  inglorious  Present  veils  its  dwarfish  head. 

England's  ideal  life  alone  survives  ! 


SONNETS.  175 


XLIV. 

VEILED   MEMORIES. 

Op  love  that  was,  of  friendship  in  the  days 

Of  youth  long  gone,  yet  oft  remembered  still, 

And  seen  like  distant  landscapes  from  a  hill, 

Clothed  in  a  garment  of  aerial  haze. 

What  need  to  sing  ?     Yet  real  is  each  phase 

Of  life  ;  and  Time,  that  brings  all  good  and  ill 

Of  this  our  mortal  lot,  can  never  spill 

One  drop  of  that  full  cup  he  fills  and  weighs. 

Ah,  faces  veiled  that  start  from  out  the  past ! 

Ah,  spectral  images  once  swift  and  warm ! 

Ye  are  but  hidden  by  perspectives  vast. 

To-day  o'ermasters  all.     And  yet  each  form 

Of  life  and  thought,  forgotten  or  aloof. 

Is  woven  through  the  soul's  strange  warp  and  woof. 


176  SONNETS. 


XLV. 

TENNYSON. 


His  brows  were  circled  by  a  wreath  of  bays, 
The  symbol  of  the  bard's  well-earned  renown  — 
Upon  his  head  more  regal  than  the  crown 
Of  kings.     For  he  by  liis  immortal  lays 
Is  King  among  the  poets  of  these  days. 
And  far  and  wide  where'er  our  mother-tongue 
Is  known,  his  winged  lines  are  read  and  sung 
In  crowded  cities  and  in  green  by-ways. 
What  could  his  countiy  give  that  he  had  not  ? 
Fame,  wealth,  love's  best  companionship  he  had. 
And,  blown  across  the  seas,  no  lonely  spot 
Of  our  far  West  but  felt  the  effluence  glad 
Borne  to  our  hearts  as  from  ethereal  fire 
In  the  rich  music  of  his  English  lyre. 


SONNETS.  177 


XLVL 

2. 

How  grand  he  would  have  stood,  had  he  declined 
The  needless  coronet  he  donned,  as  though 
Its  gilt  could  heighten  his  proud  aureole's  glow. 
But  downward  he  has  stepped,  a  seat  to  find  — 
Not  with  the  lords  of  that  imperial  kind 
Whose  simple  manhood,  fed  by  love  and  truth. 
Found  far  from  monarchs'  courts  perennial  .youth 
In  the  ideal  gardens  of  the  mind  ;  — 
But  in  a  throng  of  blank  nobilities 
In  outward  fellowship  of  lip  and  eye  — 
Of  empty  forms  and  hollow  courtesies  ; 
Thou  art  become  as  one  of  us  —  they  cry. 
Another  shape  than  thine  must  now  be  worn. 
Son  of  the  morning  —  how  thy  beams  are  shorn  ! 


178  SONNETS, 


XLVII. 

TO   G.    W.    C. 

Still  shines  our  August  day,  as  calm,  as  bright 
As  when,  long  years  ago,  we  sailed  away 
Down  the  blue  Narrows  and  the  widening  bay 
Into  the  wrinkling  ocean's  flashing  light ; 
And  the  whole  universe  of  sound  and  sight 
Repeats  the  radiance  of  that  festal  day. 
But  for  the  inward  eye  no  power  can  stay 
The  fleeting  splendor  of  our  youth's  delight. 
Still  shines  our  August  day,  —  but  not  for  me 
The  old  enchantment,  —  when,  by  care  and  sorrow 
Untried,  the  hopeful  heart  was  ever  free 
To  greet  the  morn  as  herald  of  like  morrow. 
Yet  shine,  fair  day  !     And  let  my  soul  from  thee 
Hope,  faith,  and  strength  for  life's  dim  future  borrow. 
August  1,  1884. 


SONNETS.  179 


XLVIII. 

GLADSTONE. 

For  Peace,  and  all  that  follows  in  her  path  — 
Nor  slighting  honor  and  his  country's  fame, 
He  stood  unmoved,  and  dared  to  face  the  hlame 
Of  party-spii'it  and  its  turbid  wrath. 
He  saw  in  vision  the  dread  aftermath, 
Should  war  once  kindle  its  world-circling  flame 
Through  Asian  tribes  that  bear  the  British  name. 
Time  few  such  crises  for  a  people  hath, 
And  few  such  leaders.     Calmly  he  pursued 
A  course  at  which  the  feebler  spirits  sneered, 
The  bolder  fumed  with  clamor  loud  and  rude. 
And  while  the  world  still  doubted,  hoped,  and  feared. 
This  chief  a  bloodless  victory  hath  won  — 
Britannia's  wisest,  best,  and  bravest  son. 
June,  1885. 


180  SONNETS. 


XLIX. 

J.    R.    L. 

(on  his  homeward  voyage.) 

1. 

Back  from  old  England,  in  whose  courts  he  stood 
Foremost  to  knit  by  act  and  word  the  band 
Between  the  daughter  and  the  mother-land 
In  all  by  either  prized  of  truth  and  good, 
We  welcome  to  a  fellowship  renewed 
His  country's  friend  and  ours.     The  master-hand 
That  held  the  pen  and  lyre  could  still  command 
Affairs  of  state,  controlling  league  and  feud. 
So,  helped,  not  hindered,  may  his  later  strains 
Flow  deeper,  richer,  though  by  sorrow  toned ; 
And  life  by  losses  grow  as  once  by  gains  ; 
And  age  hold  fast  the  best  that  youth  has  owned. 
But  ah,  hurt  not  with  touch  too  heavy,  Time, 
The  light-winged  wisdom  of  his  gayer  rhyme. 


SONNETS.  181 


2. 

O  SHIP  that  bears  him  to  his  native  shore, 
Beneath  whose  keel  the  seething  ocean  heaves, 
Bring  safe  our  poet  with  his  garnered  sheaves 
Of  Life's  ripe  autumn  poesy  and  lore  ! 
Though  round  the  old  homestead  where  we  met  of  yore 
In  the  unsaddened  days  the  southwind  grieves 
Through  his  green  elms,  and  all  their  summer  leaves 
Seem  whispering  of  the  scenes  that  come  no  more. 
Yet  may  the  years  that  brought  him  honors  due 
Where  Europe's  best  and  wisest  learned  his  worth, 
Yield  hope  and  strength  to  reach  horizons  new 
In  the  broad  Western  land  that  gave  him  birth ; 
Nor  bar  his  vision  to  a  sunlit  view 
Beyond  the  enshrouding  mysteries  of  earth. 
June  13,  1885. 


182  SONNETS. 


LI. 

THE   HUMAK"   FLOWER. 


I]sr  the  old  void  of  unrecorded  time, 

In  long,  slow  aeons  of  the  voiceless  past, 

A  seed  from  out  the  weltering  fire-mist  cast 

Took  root  —  a  struggling  plant  that  from  its  prime 

Through  rudiments  uncouth,  through  rock  and  slime, 

Grew,  changing  form  and  issue  —  and  clinging  fast, 

Stretched  its  aspiring  tendrils  —  till  at  last 

Shaped  like  a  spirit  it  hegan  to  climb 

Beyond  its  rugged  stem  with  leaf  and  bud 

Still  burgeoning  to  greet  the  sunlit  air 

That  clothed  its  regal  top  with  love  and  power. 

And  compassed  it  as  with  a  lieavenly  flood  — 

Until  it  burst  in  bloom  beyond  compare, 

The  world's  consummate,  peerless  human  flower. 


SONNETS.  183 


LII. 


2. 

Shall  that  bright  flower  the  countless  ages  toiled 
And  travailed  to  bring  forth  —  shall  that  rare  rose, 
Whose  bloom  and  fragrance  earth  and  heaven  unclose 
Their  treasuries  to  enrich,  by  death  be  foiled  ? 
Its  matchless  splendor  trampled  down  and  spoiled  ? 
Shall  that  Celestial  Love  —  who  watched  its  tlu'oes 
Tlu'ough  centuries  of  long  struggles  and  of  woes, 
And  freed  it  from  the  old  Serpent  round  it  coiled ; 
AVho  tended  it,  and  reared  its  glorious  head 
Above  the  brambles  and  the  poisonous  marsh. 
And  shielded  it  when  zones  were  cased  in  ice  — 
Leave  it  to  perish  when  the  summons  harsh 
Of  death  is  rung,  —  or,  ere  its  leaves  are  shed, 
Transplant  it  to  liis  realm  of  Paradise  ? 


184  SONNETS. 


LIII. 


AUGUST. 


Far  o£B  among  the  fields  and  meadow  rills 
The  August  noon  bends  o'er  a  world  of  green. 
In  the  blue  sky  the  white  clouds  pause,  and  lean 
To  paint  broad  shadows  on  the  wooded  hills 
And  upland  farms.     A  brooding  silence  fills 
The  lancjuid  hours.     No  living  forms  are  seen 
Save  birds  and  insects.     Here  and  there,  between 
The  broad  boughs  and  the  grass,  the  locust  trills 
Unseen  his  long-drawn,  slumberous  monotone. 
The  sparrow  and  the  lonely  phcebe-bird, 
Now  near,  now  far,  across  the  fields  are  heard ; 
And  close  beside  me  here  that  Spanish  drone, 
The  dancing  grasshopper,  whom  no  trouble  frets, 
In  the  hot  sunshine  snaps  liis  castanets. 


SONNETS.  185 


LIV. 

IDLE   HOURS. 

Ye  idle  hours  of  summer,  not  in  vain, 
To  one  by  Nature's  beauty  fed,  ye  pass  — 
Though  sending  through  the  mental  camera  glass 
No  philosophic  lesson  to  the  brain, 
But  only  pictures  fair  of  shaded  lane, 
Of  dappled  cows  knee-deep  in  meadow  grass  ; 
Bright  hill-tops  with  their  sloping  forest  mass. 
Or  barn-roofs  glimmering  gray  across  the  plain. 
Earth,  air,  and  water,  and  the  sacred  skies 
Have  something  still  to  tell,  not  less,  I  ween, 
Than  famous  books  the  learned  sages  prize, 
Weighted  with  thought  abstract  and  logic  keen. 
Where  Concord  pores  with  metaphysic  eyes 
O'er  vasty  deeps  of  the  unknown  and  unseen. 


186  SONNETS. 


LV. 

MUSIC   AND   POETRY. 
1. 

Sing,  poets,  as  ye  list,  of  fields,  of  flowers, 

Of  changing  seasons  with  their  brilliant  round 

Of  keen  delights,  or  themes  still  more  pi'ofound  — 

Where  soul  through  sense  transmutes  this  world  of  ours. 

There  is  a  life  intense  beyond  your  powers 

Of  utterance,  which  the  ear  alone  has  found 

In  the  aerial  fields  of  rhythmic  sound  — 

The  inviolate  pathways  and  air-woven  bowers 

Built  by  entwining  melodies  and  chords. 

Ah,  could  I  find  some  correspondent  sign 

Matching  such  wondrous  art  with  fitting  words  ! 

But  vain  the  task.     Within  his  hallowed  shrine 

Apollo  veils  his  face.     No  muse  records 

In  human  speech  such  mysteries  divine. 


SONNETS.  187 


LVI. 

2. 

Yet  words  though  weak  are  all  that  poets  own 

Wherewith  their  muse  translates  that  kindred  muse 

Of  Harmony,  whose  subtle  forms  and  hues 

Float  in  the  unlanguaged  poesy  of  Tone. 

And  so  no  true-souled  artist  stands  alone  ; 

But  all  are  brothers,  though  one  hand  may  use 

A  magic  wand  the  others  must  refuse, 

And  painters  need  no  sculptor's  Parian  stone. 

If  Art  is  long,  yet  is  her  province  Avide. 

While  all  for  truth  and  beauty  live  and  dare, 

One  sacred  temple  covers  all  her  sons. 

Music  and  Poesy  stand  side  by  side. 

Through  every  member  one  blood-current  runs : 

One  aim,  one  work,  one  destiny  they  share. 


188  SONNETS. 


LVII. 


TO    SLEEP. 


Come,  Sleep  —  Oblivion's  sire  !     Come,  blessed  Sleep  ! 

Thy  shadowy  sheltering  wings  above  me  spread. 

Fold  to  thy  balmy  breast  my  weary  head. 

Shut  close  behind  the  gates  of  sense,  and  steep 

All  sad  remembrance  in  thy  Lethe  deep. 

But  come  not  as  thou  comest  to  the  bed 

Of  the  tired  laborer  sleeping  like  the  dead 

In  dull  and  dreamless  trance.      But  let  me  keep 

The  visionary  paths  of  fantasy 

Down  through  the  mystic  mazes  of  a  laiul 

Transfigured  by  thy  wonder-working  spell. 

So  lead  me,  gentle  Sleep,  with  guiding  hand, 

That  when  I  wake  from  dreams.  I  still  may  be 

Wooed  back  to  tread  thy  fields  of  asphodel. 


ORIVIUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.» 

A   CANTATA. 

Oh,  that  I  could  sinne  once  see  ! 

We  paint  the  devil  foul,  yet  he 

Hath  some  good  in  liira,  all  agree. 
Sinne  is  flat  opposite  to  tlie  Alniig-hty,  seeing 
It  wants  the  good  of  virtue,  and  of  being. 

But  God  more  care  of  us  hath  had. 

If  apparitions  make  us  sad, 

By  sight  of  sinne  we  should  grow  mad. 

Yet  as  in  sleep  we  see  foul  death  and  live, 

So  devils  are  our  siiines  in  prospective. 

George  Herbekt. 


'  I  have  here  revised  and  enlarged  a  poem  published  some  years  ago  entitled 
"  Satan."  Tlie  reader  of  the  original  text  will  find  many  important  clianges 
and  additions  in  this  its  present  sliape  —  filling  out  and  completing  its 
rather  sketch-like  form.  Tlie  new  title  too,  I  hope,  is  more  appropriate  to 
the  subject  than  the  old  one. 


190  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 


THE  OVERTURE. 

Had  I,  instead  of  unsonorous  words, 

The  skill  that  moves  in  rapturous  melodies. 
And  modulations  of  entrancing  chords 

Through  mystic  mazes  of  all  harmonies  — 
The  bounding  pulses  of  an  overture 
Whose  grand  orchestral  movement  might  allure 
The  listener's  soul  through  chaos  and  through  night, 
And  seeming  dissonance  to  concord  and  to  light  — 
I  miofht  allow  some  harsh  Titanic  strains 

To  wrestle  with  Apollo  and  with  Jove ; 
And  let  the  war-cries  on  barbaric  plains 

Clash  through  the  chords  of  wisdom  and  of  love. 
For  still  the  harmonies  should  sing  and  soar 
Above  the  discord  and  the  battle's  roar  ; 
E'en  as  the  evolving  art  and  course  of  time. 

Amid  the  wrecks  in  wild  confusion  hurled, 
Move  with  impartial  rhythm  and  oosinic  rhyme 

Along  the  eternal  order  of  the  world. 

Then  would  I  bid  my  lyric  band  express 
In  music  the  old  earth's  long  toil  and  stress : 
How  the  dumb  iron  centuries  have  foretold 
The  coming  of  tlie  future  age  of  gold  : 
How,  ere  tlie  morning  stars  together  sang, 
Divine  completeness  out  of  chaos  sprang 


ORMUZD  AND  AIIRIMAN.  191 

Through  shapeless  germs  of  lower  forms  that  climb 
By  slow  vast  aeons  of  a  dateless  time  : 
Till,  tlirough  the  impulse  of  the  primal  plan 
They  reach  their  flowering  in  the  soul  of  man. 

AU  swift-contending  fugues  —  all  wild  escapes 

Of  passion  —  long-drawn  wail  and  sudden  blast  — 

Weird,  winding  serpent-chords,  their  writhing  shapes 
Shot  through  with  arrowy  melodies  that  fast 

Pursue  them,  or  that  fall  and  lose  themselves 

In  changing  forms,  as  in  some  land  of  elves ; 
The  shadows  and  the  lights 

Of  joyous  mornings,  and  of  sorrowing  nights  — 

Strange  tones  of  crude  half-truth  —  the  good  within 

The  mysteries  of  evil  and  of  sin. 

Should  weave  the  prelude  of  a  symphony 

Whose  music  voiced  the  world's  vast  harmony ; 
And  only  to  the  ears 

Of  spirits  listening  from  serener  spheres 

Of  thought,  the  differing  tones  should  blend  and  twine 

Into  the  semblance  of  a  work  divine  ; 

Where,  not  in  strife  l)nt  peace,  should  meet 

What  single  were  but  incomplete. 

I  would  unloose  the  soul  beneath  the  wings 

Of  every  instrument  ; 
I  would  enlist  the  deep-complaining  strings 

Of  doubt  and  discontent ; 


192  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

The  low  sad  mutterings  and  entangled  tunes 

Of  viols  and  bassoons  ;  — 

Shy  horns  with  diffident  tones  — 

The  insolent  trombones  — 

The  reedy  notes 

From  mellow  throats 
Of  oboe  and  of  clarionet  — 
Their  pure  and  pastoral  singing  met 
By  clash  of  bacchanal  cymbals,  and  a  rout 
Of  tipsy  satyrs  dancing  all  about :  — 
Carols  of  love  and  hope  checked  by  the  blare 
Of  trumpet-cries  of  anger  and  despair  :  — 
AU  differing  mingling  voices  of  the  deep  — 
All  startling  blasts,  all  airs  that  lull  to  sleep  ; 
The  mountain  cataract  that  whirls  and  spins 

And  bursts  in  spray  asunder  :  — 
Swift  pattering  rains  of  flutes  and  violins,  — 

The  tymbal's  muffled  thunder  : 
jS^olIan  breathings  wild  and  soft, 
Notes  that  sink  or  soar  aloft  — 
Soar  or  sink  with  harp-strings  pulsing  under  :  — 
Ravishing  melodies  that  stream 
Through  chords  entrancing  as  a  dream 

Out  of  a  realm  of  wonder. 

Or  else,  from  off  the  full  and  large-leaved  score 

Into  the  willing  instruments  I'd  pour 

A  noise  of  battle  in  the  air  unseen  ; 

Of  ghostly  squadrons  sending  tremors  strange 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  193 

Of  trouble  and  disastrous  change 
From  beyond  their  cloudy  screen  ; 
Low  rumbling  thunders  —  drops  of  bloody  rain  — 
Earthquake  and  storm  —  presentiment  of  pain  — 

Strange  sobbings  in  the  air 
Hushed  by  degrees  in  fading  semitones 

And  softened  sighs  and  moans, 
As  when  a  mother  by  the  cradle  stiUs 
At  night  her  weeping  child,  ere  morn  peeps  o'er  the  hills, 
And  all  the  world  again  is  bright  and  fair. 

While,  with  receding  feet. 

Far  off  is  heard  the  beat 
Of  mournful  marches  of  the  muffled  drums  ; 

And  nearer  now  and  nearer. 

Sweeter  still  and  clearer. 
The  bird-like  flute-notes  leap  into  the  air, 
While  the  great  human-heavenly  music  comes 
Emerging  from  the  dark  with  bursts  of  song 
And  hope  and  victory  delayed  too  long. 

So  should  my  music  fill  its  perfect  round 
With  dewy  sunrise,  and  with  peace  profound. 

Ah,  what  are  all  the  discords  of  all  time 
But  stumbhng  steps  of  one  persistent  life 

That  struggles  up  through  mists  to  heights  sublime, 
Forefelt  through  all  creation's  lingering  strife  :  — 

The  deathless  motion  of  one  undertone, 

Whose  deep  vibrations  thrill  from  God  to  God  alone ! 


194  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

PART   I. 

Daybreak. 

Chorus  of  Planetary  Spirits. 
Ye  interstellar  spaces,  serene  and  still  and  clear, 

Above,  below,  around ! 
Ye  gray  unmeasured   breadths   of   ether,  —  sphere   on 
sphere  I 
We  listen,  but  no  sound 
Rings  from  your  depths  profound. 

But  ever  along  and  all  across  the  morning  bars 

Fast-flashing  meteors  run  — 
The  trailing  wrecks  of  fierce  and  fiery-bearded  stars, 

Scattered  and  lost  and  won 

Back  to  their  parent  sun. 

Through  rifts  of  bronzing  clouds  the  tides  of  morning 
glow 

And  swell  and  mount  apace. 
We  watch  and  wait  if  haply  we  at  last  may  know 

Some  record  we  may  trace 

Upon  the  orbs  of  space. 

Above,  below,  around  we  track  our  planets'  flight ; 

Their  paths  and  destinies 
Are  intertwined  with  ours.     Remote  or  near,  their  light 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  195 

Or  darkness  to  our  eyes 
A  mystic  picture  lies. 

FiKST  Spikit. 

Close  to  the  morn  a  small  and  sparkling  star-world  dances, 

Bathed  in  the  flaming  mist ; 
Flashing  and  quivering  like  a  million  moving  lances 

Of  gold  and  amethyst 

By  slanting  sunrise  kissed. 

A  fairy  reahn  of  rapid  and  unimpeded  sprites, 

That  fly  and  leap  and  dart ; 
All  fierce  and  tropic  fervors,  all  swift  and  warm  delights 

Bound  and  flash  and  start 

In  every  fiery  heart. 

Second  Spikit. 

Deep  in  the  dawn  floats  up  a  star  of  dewy  fire  — 

So  pure  it  seems  new-born  ; 

As  though  the  soul  of  morn 
Were  pulsing  through  its  heart  in  dim,  divine  desire 
Of  poesy  and  love  ;  —  the  star  of  morn  and  eve  — 

Whose  crystal  sphere  is  shining 

"With  joys  beyond  divining  — 
Passion  that  never  tortures,  and  hopes  that  ne'er  deceive. 

Thied  Spirit. 

There  swims  the  pale,  green  Earth,  half  drowned  and 
thunder-rifted, 


196  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Steeped  in  a  sea  of  rain.     Above  the  watery  waste 
Of  God's  primeval  flood,  all  other  land  effaced  — 

One  peak  alone  uplifted. 
The  baffled  lightnings  play  around  its  crags  and  chasms ; 
So  far  away  they  flash,  I  hear  no  thunder-spasms. 
But  now  the  scowling  clouds  are  drifting  from  its  spaces, 
And  leave  it  to  the  wind  and  coming  day's  embraces. 

Fourth  Spirit. 

Beyond,  a  planet  rolls  with  darkly  lurid  sides, 

Flooded  and  seamed  and  stained  by  drenching  Stygian 

tides ; 
Deep  gorges,  up  whose  black  and  slimy  slopes  there  peep 
All  monstrous  Saurian  growths  that  run  or  fly  or  creep ; 
And,  in  and  out  the  holes  and  caverns  clogged  with  mud, 
Crawl  through  their  giant  ferns  to  suck  each  other's  blood. 
I  see  them  battling  there  in  fog  and  oozy  water. 
Symbols  of  savage  lust,  deformity,  and  slaughter. 

Fifth  Spirit 

I  see  an  orb  above  that  spins  with  rapid  motion, 

Vaster  and  vaster  growing  — 
Belted  with  sulphurous  clouds  ;  and  through  the  rents  an 

ocean 
Boiling  and  plunging  up  on  a  crust  of  fiery  shore. 
And  now  I  hear  far  off  the  elemental  roar, 

And  the  red  fire-winds  blowing  : 
A  low,  dull,  steady  moan  a  million  miles  away, 


ORMUZD  AND  AH  RIM  AN.  197 

Of  whirling  hurricanes  that  rage  all  night,  all  day. 
No  life  of  man  or  beast,  were  life  engendered  there, 
Could  bide  those  flaming  winds,  that  white  metallic  glare. 

Sixth  SriiUT. 

But  yonder,  studded   round   with   lamps    of   moonlight 

tender, 
And  arched  from  pole    to    pole  with  rings  of  rainbow 

splendor, 
A  woi'ld  rolls  far  apart  ;  as  though  in  haughty  scorning 
Of  all  the  alien  light  of  his  diminished  morning. 

Seventh  akd  Eighth  Spirits. 

Cold,  cold  and  dark  —  and  farther  still 

We  dimly  see  the  icy  spheres 
Like  sjDectre  worlds,  who  yet  fulfil, 
Through  slow  dull  centuries  of  years, 
Theu-  circuit  round  the  distant  sun  who  winds  tliem  at 
his  will. 

Chokus. 

Round  and  round  one  central  orb 

The  wheeling  planets  move. 
And  some  reflect  and  some  absorb 

The  floods  of  light  and  love. 

The  roUing  globe  of  molten  stones, 
The  spinning  watery  waste, 


198  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

The  forests  whirled  through  tropic  zones 
By  circling  moons  embraced  — 

We  watch  their  elemental  strife  ; 

We  wait,  that  we  may  see 
Some  record  of  their  inner  life, 

Where  all  is  mystery. 

A  pause.     The  Spirits  approach  the  Earth.     The  Sun  rises  over 
the  Continent  of  Asia. 

Secokd  Spirit. 

Look,  brothers,  look  !     The  quivering  sunrise  tinges 

Our  nearest  orb  of  Earth.     The  forest  fringes 

Redden  with  joy  ;  and  aU  about  the  sun, 

That  gilds  the  boundless  east,  the  cloud-banks  dun 

Flame  into  gold ;   and  with  a  crimson  kiss 

Wake  the  green  world  to  beauty  and  to  bliss. 

See  how  she  glows  with  sweet  responsive  smile  ! 

Hark,  how  the  waves  of  air  lap  round  her  ! 
As  though  she  were  some  green,  embowered  isle, 

And  the  fond  ocean  had  just  found  her, 
In  Time's  primeval  morn  of  unrecorded  calms 
Hidden  away  with  all  her  lilies  and  her  palms ; 
And   flattering   at   her   feet,  had   smoothed   his  angry 

mane. 
And  movino:  round  her  kissed  her  o'er  and  o'er  again. 


OmWZD  AND  AIIRIMAN.  199 

Therd  Spirit. 
And  now,  behold,  our  wings  are  rapid  as  our  thought ; 

And  nearer  yet  have  brought 
Our  feet,  until  we  hover  above  the  Asian  lands 

Beyond  the  desert  sands. 
There,  girt  about  by  mountain  peaks  that  cleave  the  skies, 

A  blooming  valley  lies  : 
A  pathway,  sloping  down  from  visionary  heights 

Tlirough  shades  and  dappled  lights, 
Lost  in  a  garden  wilderness  of  troi^ic  trees 

And  flowers  and  birds  and  bees. 
Far  off  I  smell  the  rose,  the  amaranth,  the  spice, 

The  breath  of  Paradise. 
Far  off  I  hear  the   singing  through  hidden  groves  and 
vales 

Of  Eden's  nightingales  ; 
And,  sliding  down  through  pines  and  moss  and  rocky 
walls, 

The  murmuring  waterfalls. 
And  lo,  two  radiant  forms  that  seem  akin  to  us, 

Walk,  calm  and  beauteous, 
Crowned  with  the  light  of   thought  and    mutual  love, 
whose  blisses 

Are  sealed  with  rapturous  kisses. 
Ah,  beautiful  green  Earth !  ah,  happy,  happy  pair  I 

Can  there  be  aught  so  fair, 
0  brothers,  in  yon  vast  unpeopled  worlds  afar. 

As  these  bright  beings  are ! 


200  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Chorus  of  Spibits. 
The  stars  in  the  heavens  are  singing 

Response  to  the  wonderful  story ; 
Joy,  joy  to  the  race  that  is  springing 

To  cover  the  earth  with  its  glory  ! 

The  race  that  enfolds  in  its  bosom 
A  birthright  divine  and  immortal ; 

As  the  fruit  is  envrrapped  in  the  blossom, 
As  the  garden  is  hid  by  the  portal ! 

Distant  Voices. 
(^1  change  to  a  minor  key.) 
Sin  and  weakness,  misery  and  pain, 

Cloud  their  sunlit  birth ; 
And  the  sons  of  Heaven  alone  remain 
Gods  unmixed  with  earth. 

Light  and  darkness  are  the  twins  of  fate  ; 

Undivided  they, 
Through  all  realms  that  bear  a  mortal  date, 

Hold  alternate  sway. 

Through  the  universe  the  lords  of  life 

Never  at  peace  can  be. 
Good  and  evil  in  a  ceaseless  strife 

Fight  for  victory. 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  201 

Third  Spikit. 
I  hear  in  the  spaces  below 
A  discord  of  voices  that  flow 
In  muttering  tones  through  the  air. 
But  where  are  they  hidden  —  where  ? 
There  are  trailings  of  gloom  through  the  spaces, 

And  far-darting  cones  that  eclipse 
The  splendor  of  planets  whose  faces 
Are  dimmed  by  their  darkening  traces, 

And  frozen  by  alien  lips  ; 
And  the  dream  of  a  swift-coming  change 
Foi'etokens  a  destiny  strange. 

And  what  is  yon  Shadow  that  creeps 
On  the  marge  of  her  crystalline  deeps  ? 
On  the  field  and  the  river  and  grove, 

On  the  borders  of  hojje  and  of  rest ; 
On  the  Eden  of  wedlock  and  love  ; 

On  the  labor  contentment  hath  blessed  ? 
That  crawls  like  a  serpent  of  mist 

Through  the  vales  and  the  gardens  of  peace. 
With  a  blight  upon  all  it  hath  kissed, 

And  a  shade  that  shall  never  decrease? 
That  maddens  the  wings  of  desire. 

And  saddens  the  ardors  of  joy  — 
Winged  like  a  phantom  of  fire  — 

Armed  like  a  fiend  to  destroy  ! 


202  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Second  Spirit. 
Before  me  there  flitted  a  vision  — 

A  \asion  of  dawn  and  Creation, 
Of  faith  and  of  doubt  and  division, 

Of  mystical  fruit  and  temptation  : 
A  garden  of  lilies  and  roses, 

Ah,  sweeter  than  dreams  ever  fashioned  ; 
Hopes  in  whose  splendor  reposes 

A  love  that  was  pure  and  impassioned. 
But  alas  for  the  sons  and  the  daughters 

Of  man,  in  the  morning  of  nations ! 
Alas  for  their  rivers  of  waters  ! 

Alas  for  their  fruitless  oblations  ! 
The  curse  and  the  blight  and  the  sentence 
Have  fallen  too  swift  for  repentance. 
I  see  it,  I  feel  it  —  O  brother  ! 

It  shadows  one  half  of  their  garden. 
O  Earth !  O  improvident  Mother  ! 

Where  left'st  thou  thy  angel,  thy  warden  ?  . 
Is  it  theirs,  or  the  guilt  of  another  ? 

Must  they  die  without  hope  of  a  pardon  ? 
What  is  it  they  suffer,  0  brother, 

In  the  red,  rosy  light  of  their  garden  ? 

The  Spirits. 
Ye  Angels  —  ye  heavenly  Powers 
Whose  wisdom  is  higher  than  ours  — 
From  the  blight,  from  the  terror  defend  them  ■ 
Help,  hel]) !      In  their  Eden  befriend  tliem. 


ORMUZD  AND  AERIMAN.  203 

The  Angel  Raphael. 
Beyond  the  imagined  limits  of  such  space 
As  ye  can  guess,  I  passed,  yet  heard  your  cry. 
For  ye  are  brother  spirits.     And  I  come, 
Swifter  than  light,  to  shield  you  from  the  dread 
Of  earth-born  shadows,  and  the  ghostly  folds 
Of  seeming  evil  curtaining  round  your  worlds. 
Yet  can  I  bring  no  amulet  to  guard 
One  peaceful  breast  from  sorrow  ;  for  yourselves 
Are  girt  about,  as  I,  by  that  divine, 
Exhaustless  Love,  whose  pledge  your  souls  contain. 

The  Spirits. 
Ah,  not  for  ourselves  —  but  our  brothers 

We  plead,  in  their  dawn  overglooming, 
For  the  death  is  not  theirs,  but  anothei's. 

Help,  help  !  from  the  doom  that  is  coming  ; 

For  they  stand  all  alone  and  unguided ; 

No  Past  with  its  lesson  upholds  them  ; 
Their  life  from  their  race  is  divided  ; 

A  childhood  unconscious  enfolds  them. 

Is  it  sin  —  is  it  death  that  has  shrouded 
Their  souls,  or  a  taint  in  their  nature  ? 

Is  there  hope  for  a  future  unclouded  ? 
Tell  —  tell  us  —  angelical  teacher ! 


204  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Raphael. 
Yon  earth,  which  claimed  your  closer  vigilance, 
And  seems  so  near  to  you  in  time  and  space, 
Is  far  away.     Your  present  is  its  past. 
To  sjiirits,  worlds  and  aeons  are  condensed 
Into  a  moment's  feeling  or  a  thought. 
While  ye  were  singing  as  ye  watched  those  orbs, 
They  grew  and  grew  from  incandescent  globes 
Girdled  with  thunder,  wreathed  with  suljihurous  steam 
Or  from  the  slime  where  rude  gigantic  forms 
Of  crocodile  or  bat  plunged  through  the  dense 
And  flowerless  wilds  of  cane,  or  flapped  like  dreams 
Of  darkness  through  the  foul  mephitic  air. 
These  shapes  gave  way  to  forests,  rocks,  and  seas, 
And  shapely  forms  of  beast  and  bird  and  man  — 
The  last  result  of  wonder-working  Time  — 
Man  —  the  tall  crowning  flower  and  fruit  of  all  — 
And  the  vast  complex  tissues  he  hath  wrought 
Of  life  and  laws  and  government  and  arts. 
All  this  ye  knew  not ;  tranced  in  choral  song, 
Your  music  was  the  oblivion  of  all  time. 

The  Spirits. 
Have  we  not  seen  the  approaching  doom  of  Earth  ? 

Raphael. 

The  vision  ye  liave  had  of  joy  and  doom 
Flashing  and  glooming  o'er  two  little  lives, 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  205 

Is  truth  half-tyi^ed  In  legend,  such  as  fed 

The  people  of  the  ancient  days,  distilled 

From  crude  primordial  growths  of  time,  when  sin 

Saw  the  fierce  flaming  sword  of  conscience  shake 

Its  terror  through  the  groves  of  Paradise, 

Grasped  by  Jehovah's  red  right  hand  in  wrath. 

The  Spikcts. 
Was  it  a  dream  ?     We  saw  that  red  right  hand. 

Raphael. 

The  events  and  thoughts  that  passed  in  olden  time 
Dawn  on  your  senses  with  the  beams  of  light 
That  left  long,  long  ago  those  distant  worlds, 
And  flash  from  out  the  past  Hke  present  truths. 
It  was  a  poet's  dream  ye  saw.     It  held 
A  truth.     'Tis  yours  to  unfold  the  mythic  forai, 
And  guess  the  meaning  of  the  ancient  tale. 

The  Spirits. 

We  mark  thy  words  ;  we  know  that  thou  art  wise 

And  good  ;  and  yet  we  hover  in  a  mist 

Of  doubt.     Help  us  !     Our  sight  is  weak  and  dim. 

Raphael. 

Know  then  that  men  and  Angels  can  conceive 
Through  symbols  only,  the  eternal  truths. 
Through  aU  creation  streams  this  dual  ray  — 


206  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

The  marriage  of  the  spirit  with  the  form  — 

The  correspondence  of  the  universe 

With  souls  through  sense  ;  and  that  the  deepest  thought 

And  firmest  faith  are  nurtured  and  sustained 

By  the  great  visible  universe  of  time 

And  space  —  the  alphabet  whose  mystic  forms 

Present  all  inner  lessons  to  the  soul  — 

And  thus  the  unseen  by  the  seen  is  known. 

Yea,  even  the  blank  and  sterile  voids  that  span 

The  dead  unpalpitating  space  'twixt  star 

And  star,  shall  speak,  as  light  hath  spoken  once. 

And  hark  !     Even  now  the  unfathomable  deeps 
Begin  to  stir.     I  hear  a  far  off  sound 
Of  shuddering  vrings,  beyond  the  hurrying  clouds, 
Beyond  the  stars  —  now  nearer,  nearer  still ! 

Distant  Voicks. 
[Confusedly,  in  a  minor  I'ey.) 

Behind  us  shines  the  Light  of  lights. 
We  are  the  Shadows,  we  the  nights, 
That  blot  the  pure  expanse  of  time. 
And  yet  we  weave  the  destined  rliyme 
Of  creatures  with  the  Inci'eate  — 
Of  God  and  man,  free  will  and  fate ; 
The  warp  and  woof  of  heavens  and  hells  ; 

The  noiseless  round  of  death  and  birth  ; 
The  eternal  protojjlasmic  spells 

Bindiu"-  the  sons  of  God  to  earth :  — 


OmiUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  207 

The  ceaseless  web  of  mystery 
That  has  been,  and  shall  ever  be. 

The  Spirits. 

Far  off  we  seem  to  hear  a  chorus  strange, 
Rising  and  falling  through  the  gathering  gloom. 
And  now  the  congregated  clouds  appear 
To  take  the  semblance  of  a  Shape,  that  bends 
This  way  —  as  when  a  whirling  ocean-spout 
Drinks,  as  it  moves  along,  the  light  of  heaven. 

Raphael. 

Spirit  —  if  Spirit  or  Presence 

Thou  art,  or  the  gloom  of  a  symbol  — 
Approach,  if  thou  canst,  to  interpret 

Thy  name  and  thy  work  and  thy  essence. 

{A  pause.) 

Behold,  the  Shadow  spreads  and  towers  apace, 
Like  a  dense  cloud  that  rolls  along  the  sea 
Landward,  then  shrouds  the  winding  shore,  the  fields, 
The  network  of  the  gray  autumnal  woods, 
And  the  low  cottage  roofs  of  upland  farms ; 
What  seemed  a  vapor  with  a  ragged  fringe 
Changes  to  wings,  that  sweep  from  north  to  south. 
And  round  about  the  mass  whose  cloudy  dome 
Should  be  a  head,  I  see  the  lambent  flames 
Of  distant  lightnings  play.     And  now  a  voice 


208  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Of  winds  and  waves  and  crumbling  thunder  tones 
Commingled,  muttering  unintelligible  things, 
Approaches  us.     The  air  grows  strangely  chill 
And  nebulous.     Daylight  hath  backward  stepped. 
The  morning  sun  is  blotted  with  eclipse. 

Chorus  of  the  Spirits. 

Like  the  pale  stricken  leaves  of  the  Autumn 

When  Winter  swoops  downward  to  whirl  them 

Afar  from  the  nooks  of  the  woodlands. 

And  up  through  the  clouds  of  the  twilight, 

We  shudder !     We  hear  a  wind  roaring 

And  booming  below  in  the  darkness  ; 

A  voice  whose  low  thunder  is  mingled 

With  waves  of  the  sibilant  ocean. 

The  clouds  that  were  pearly  and  golden 

Are  steeped  in  a  blackening  crimson. 

The  spell  of  a  magical  presence 

Is  Hearing  us  out  of  the  darkness. 

What  is  it  ?     No  shape  we  distinguish  — 

No  voice  — but  a  sound  that  is  muffled. 

Muffled  and  stifled  in  thunder. 

We  are  troubled.     Oh,  help  us,  strong  Angel ! 

A  Form  gathers  out  of  the  darkness, 

Awful  and  dim  and  abysmal  I 

Raphael. 
Fear  not  the  gloomy  Phantasm.     Speak  to  him. 
If  he  will  answer,  ye  may  learn  of  him 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  209 

What  human  books  of  dead  theology 

Have  seklom  taught,   or  poets,  though  they  sang 

Of  Eden  and  the  primal  curse  of  man. 

The  Spiuits. 

Spirit,  or  phantom  —  darkening  earth  and  sky, 
And  creeping  through  the  soul  in  grim  despair  — 
What  art  thou  ?     Speak  !  whose  shadow  darkens  thus 
The  eye  of  morn  ? 

Satan. 
I  am  not  what  I  seem. 

The  Spirits. 

Art  thou  that  fallen  Angel  who  seduced 

From  their  allegiance  the  bright  hosts  of  heaven 

And  men,  and  reignest  now  the  lord  of  doom  ? 

Satan. 

I  am  not  what  I  seem  to  finite  minds  ;  — 

No  fallen  Angel  —  for  I  never  fell, 

Though  priest  and  poet  feign  me  exiled  and  doomed  ; 

But  ever  was  and  ever  shall  be  thus  — 

Nor  worse  nor  better  than  the  Eternal  planned. 

T  am  the  Retribution,  not  the  Curse. 

I  am  the  sliadow  and  reverse  of  God  ; 

The  type  of  mixed  and  interrupted  good ; 

Tlie  clod  of  sense  without  whbse  earthly  base 

You  spirit-flowers  can  never  grow  and  bloom. 


210  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

The  SpmiTS. 
We  dread  to  ask  —  what  need  have  we  of  thee  ? 

Satan. 

I  am  that  stern  necessity  of  fate  — 
Creation's  temperament  —  the  mass  and  mould 
Of  circumstance,  through  which  eternal  law 
Works  in  its  own  mysterious  way  its  will. 

The  Spirits. 
Art  thou  not  Evil  —  Sin  abstract  and  pure  ? 

Satan. 

There  were  no  shadows  till  the  worlds  were  made ; 
No  evil  and  no  sin  till  finite  souls, 
Imperfect  thence,  conditioned  in  free-will, 
Took  form,  projected  by  eternal  law 
Through  co-existent  realms  of  time  and  space. 

The  Spirits. 
Thy  words  are  dark.     We  dimly  catch  their  sense. 

Satan. 

Naught  evil,  though  it  were  the  Prince  of  evil. 
Hath  being  in  itself.     For  God  alone 
Existeth  in  Himself,  and  Good,  which  lives 
As  sunshine  lives,  born  of  the  Parent  Sun. 
I  am  the  finite  shadow  of  that  Sun, 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  211 


Opposite,  not  opposing,  only  seen 
Upon  the  nether  side. 

The  Spikits. 

Art  happy  then  ? 

Satan. 

Nor  happy  I  nor  wretched.     I  hut  do 
My  work,  as  finite  fate  and  law  prescribe. 

The  Spirits. 

Didst  thou  not  tempt  the  woman  and  the  man 
Of  Eden,  and  beguile  them  to  their  doom  ? 

Satan. 

No  personal  will  am  I,  no  influence  bad 

Or  good.     I  symbolize  the  wild  and  deep 

And  unregenerated  wastes  of  life, 

Dark  with  transmitted  tendencies  of  race 

And  blind  mischance  ;  all  crude  mistakes  of  will  — 

Proclivity  unbalanced  by  due  weight 

Of  favoring  circumstance  ;  all  passion  blown 

By  wandering  winds  ;  all  surplusage  of  force 

Piled  up  for  use,  but  slipping  from  its  base 

Of  law  and  order  ;  all  undisciplined 

And  ignorant  mutiny  against  the  wise 

Restraint  of  rules  by  centuries  old  indorsed. 

And  proved  the  best  so  long  it  needs  no  proof;  — 

All  quality  o'erstrained  until  it  cracks  — 


212  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Yet  but  a  surface  crack ;  the  Eternal  Eye 

Sees  underneath  the  soul's  sphere,  as  above, 

And  knows  the  deep  foundations  of  the  world 

Will  not  be  jarred  or  loosened  by  the  stress 

Of  sun  and  wind  and  rain  upon  the  crust 

Of  upper  soil.     Nay,  let  the  earthquake  split 

The  mountains  into  steep  and  splintered  chasms  — 

Down  deeper  than  the  shock  the  adamant 

Of  ages  stands,  symbol  no  less  divine 

Of  the  eternal  Law  than  heaven  above. 

The  Spirits. 
Shall  we  then  doubt  the  sacred  books  —  the  faith 
That  Satan  was  of  old  the  foe  of  God  ? 

Satan. 

Nations  have  planned  their  demons  as  they  planned 

Their  gods.     Say,  rather,  God  and  Satan  mixed,  — 

A  hybrid  of  perplexed  theology,  — 

Stood  at  the  centre  of  the  universe  ; 

Ormuzd  and  Aliriman,  in  ceaseless  war  — 

A  double  spirit  through  whose  nerves  and  veins 

Throbbed  the  vast  pulses  of  his  feverish  moods 

Of  blight  and  benediction.     Did  the  Jew 

Or  Pagan,  save  the  few  of  finer  mould, 

Own  an  unchanging  God,  or  one  self-willed. 

Who,  like  themselves,  was  moved  to  wrath,  revenge 

And  jealousy,  to  petty  strifes  and  bars 

Of  sect  and  clan  —  the  reflex  of  their  thought  ? 


OZMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  218 

The  Spirits. 
What  if  it  were  revealed  to  holy  men, 
By  faith,  that  God  had  formed  a  spirit  vast 
Who  fell,  rebelled,  tempted  the  race  to  death? 
Whether  a  foe  who  rode  upon  the  wind, 
Or  one  within,  leagued  with  some  sweet,  strong  drift 
Of  natural  desire,  tainted  yet  sweet  ? 

Satan. 

Alas,  did  ever  human  eyes  transcend 

And  pierce  beyond  the  hemisphere  of  tints 

That  overarched  their  thought  and  hope,  yet  seemed 

A  heaven  of  truth  ?     As  man  is  so  his  God. 

So  too  his  spirit  of  evil.     Evil  fixed 

He  saw,  eternal  and  abstract,  whose  tree 

Thrust  down  its  grappling  tap-roots  in  the  heart. 

And  poisoned  where  it  grew  ;  its  blighting  shade 

By  no  sweet  wandering  winds  of  heaven  caressed. 

No  raindrops  from  the  pitiless  clouds.     No  birds 

Of  song  and  summer  in  its  branches  built 

Their  little  nests  of  love.     No  hermit  sought 

The  shivering  rustle  of  its  chilly  shade. 

Accursed  of  God  it  stood  —  accursed  and  drear 

It  stood  apart  —  a  thing  by  God  and  man 

Hated  or  pitied  as  a  pestilence 

O'er-passing  cure.     So  hate  not  me.     For  I 

Am  but  the  picture  mortal  eyes  behold 

Shadowing  the  dread  results  of  broken  laws 


214  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Designed  by  eternal  wisdom  for  the  good 

Of  man,  though  typed  as  Darkness,  Pain,  and  Fire. 

The  Spirits. 

Must  not  the  eternal  Justice  punish  man 
And  spirits  —  now  and  in  the  great  To-Be  ? 
"What  sinner  can  escape  his  burning  wrath  ? 

Satan. 

The  soul  of  man  is  man's  own  heaven  or  hell. 
God's  love  and  justice  will  no  curse  on  men 
Or  spirits,  who  condemn  themselves,  and  hide 
Their  faces  in  the  murky  fogs  of  sense 
And  lawless  passion,  and  the  hate  and  feud 
Born  of  all  dense  inwoven  ignorance. 
Man  loves  or  fears  the  shadow  of  himself. 
God  shines  behind  him.     Let  him  tuin  and  see. 

[Vanishes  slowly. 

The  Spikits. 

Yet  stay  —  speak,  speak  once  more  !  Tell  us  what  fate 
Awaits  the  human  race  —  now  on  this  earth 
Teeming  vrith  life  —  and  in  the  great  Hereafter  ! 

Raphael. 

The  phantom-lips  are  dumb  :  nor  could  they  answer. 
The  book  of  fate  is  known  to  One  alone. 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  ^1^ 

The  Spmrrs. 
And  thou  —  thou,  sovereign  Angel,  knowest  not  ? 

Raphael. 
He  alone  knows  whose  being  contains  the  all. 
Cease  questioning.     Have  faith.     Love  reigns  supreme. 


PART  II. 

A  Chorus  of  Human  Spikits  in  the  Mist. 
Far  in  the  shuddering  spaces  of  the  North 

We  live.     We  saw  a  Shape 
Of  terror  rise  and  spread  and  issue  forth ; 

And  we  would  fain  escape 
The  anger  of  his  frown.     We  know  him  not, 

Nor  whether  it  be  he 
Who  claims  our  homage,  for  the  shadows  blot 

The  sun  we  may  not  see. 

We  lift  our  prayers  on  heavy  wings  to  one 

Who  dwells  beyond  the  sun  ; 
Whose  lightnings  are  decrees  of  life  or  doom  ; 

Whose  laws  are  veiled  in  gloom. 
Thick  clouds  and  darkness  are  about  thy  throne 

Where  thou  dost  reign  alone. 
And  we  amid  the  mists  and  shadows  grope, 

With  faint  bewildered  hope. 


216  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

We  fear  thy  awful  judgments,  and  thy  curse 

Upon  thy  Universe. 
For  we  are  told  it  is  a  fearful  thing, 

0  thou  Almighty  King, 
To  fall  into  thy  hands.     O  spare  the  rod  — 

Thou  art  a  jealous  God  ! 
0  save  us  by  the  blood  of  Mm  who  died. 

That  sin  might  not  divide 
Our  guilty  souls  from  heaven  and  Christ  and  Thee. 

And  yet  we  dread  to  see 
Thy  face.     How  can  the  trembhng  fugitive 

Behold  thy  face  and  live  ! 

Voice  behikd  the  Mist. 

Fear  not,  for  ye  shall  live  if  ye  receive 

The  life  divine,  obedient   to  the  law 

Of  truth  and  good.     So  shall  there  be  no  frown 

Upon  liis  face  who  wills  the  good  of  all. 

Choir  of  Angels  in  the  Distance. 

God  who  made  the  tempest's  winged  terror 

And  the  smile  of  morn, 
Who  art  bringing  truth  from  sin  and  error, 

Love  from  hate  and  scorn  ; 

Lo,  thy  presence  glows  through  all  thy  creatures, 
Passion-stained  or  fair ; 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  217 

Saint  and  sinner  bear  the  selfsame  features 
Thy  bright  angels  wear. 

Human  fraUty  all  alike  inherit, 

Yet  our  souls  are  free. 
Giver  of  aU  good,  it  is  no  merit 

That  we  turn  to  thee. 

Thou  alone  art  pure  in  thy  perfection. 

We  thy  children  shine 
But  as  our  soiled  garments  take  reflection 

From  thy  hght  divine. 

Thou  art  reaching  forth  thine  arms  forever, 

Struggling  souls  to  free. 
Leading  man  by  every  good  endeavor 

Back  to  heaven  and  thee  ! 

Chorus  of  Planetary  Spirits. 

The  presence  that  awed  us  and  chilled  us 
Dissolves  in  the  dews  of  the  morning. 
The  darkness  has  vanished  around  us, 
And  shrunk  to  the  shadows  that  color 
The  cloud  flakes  of  gold  and  of  purple  : 
So  vanish  the  thoughts  that  obscured  us, 
The  doubt  and  the  dread  of  the  evil 
That  stained  the  starred  robe  of  Creation. 
And  we  hear  but  one  music  pervading 


218  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

The  planets  and  suns  that  are  shining  — 
The  spirits  that  j)ine  in  the  darkness 
Or  float  in  the  joy  of  the  morning. 

Semichokus  I. 

Have  v^e  wronged  thee,  O  monarch  of  shadows  ? 

Have  we  named  thee  the  Demon  of  spirits  ? 
We  know  that  the  good  and  the  evil 

Each  mortal  and  angel  inherits  — 
The  evil  and  good  that  are  twisted 

As  fibres  of  brass  and  of  gold  — 
To  the  All-seeing  Eye  have  a  meaning 

We  know  not  —  too  vast  to  be  told  ; 
But  the  wise  and  the  merciful  Father, 

Though  they  stray  in  the  desert  and  wold, 
•    WUl  lift  up  his  lambs  to  his  bosom, 

And  gather  them  into  his  fold. 

Semichorus  II. 

Yet  the  guilt  and  the  crime  that  have  triumphed, 
Though  shining  in  purple  and  gold, 

ShaU  bring  their  own  sure  retribution, 
As  the  prophets  of  ages  have  told. 

For  Justice  is  sure  in  the  order 

That  rules  through  the  heavens  of  old. 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  219 

Voice  of  a  Prophet. 
Aye,  though  no  tyrant's  stern  decree  enforce 
The  law,  yet  Justice  still  must  hold  its  course  ; 
Sure  as  the  power  that  draws  the  falling  stone, 
Sure  as  the  electric  thrill  from  zone  to  zone, 
The  ocean's  tides,  the  round  of  day  and  night. 
The  burning  tropic  sun,  the  winter's  blight  — 
So  follows,  though  long  years  have  hid  the  seed, 
The  fatal  fruitage  of  the  evil  deed. 

Voice  of  a  Phtlosopher. 

Yet  not,  we  must  believe, 
Like  man's  infii-m  opinion 
And  Incomplete  tribunals 
God's  larger  judgments  stand. 
He  sees  the  Past  and  Present  ; 
He  knows  the  strong  temptations  ; 
The  nets  where  lie  entangled 
The  creatures  of  his  hand. 

He  knows  the  deep  enigmas 
No  mortal  mind  has  solved. 
The  armed  and  banded  legions. 
That  bind  earth's  captives  down, 
Hold  no  divine  commission 
To  pass  the  fuial  sentence. 
Heaven  holds  its  perfect  balance, 
And  smiles  above  their  frown. 


220  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Song  of  Hopeful  Spirits. 
1. 
Praise,  praise  ye  the  prophets,  the  sages 
Who  Kved  and  who  died  for  the  ages ; 
The  grand  and  magnificent  dreamers  ; 
The  heroes,  the  mighty  redeemers  ; 
The  martyrs,  reformers  and  leaders  ; 
The  voices  of  mystical  Vedas  ; 
The  hihles  of  races  long  shrouded 
Who  left  us  their  wisdom  unclouded  ; 
The  truth  that  is  old  as  their  mountains, 
But  fresh  as  the  riUs  from  their  fountains. 

2. 

And  praise  ye  the  poets  whose  pages 
Give  solace  and  joy  to  the  ages ; 
Who  have  seen  in  their  marvellous  trances 
Of  thought  and  of  rhythmical  fancies. 
The  manhood  of  Man  in  all  errors  ; 
The  triumph  of  hope  over  terrors  ; 
The  great  human  heart  ever  pleading 
Its  kindred  divine,  though  misleading, 
Fate  held  it  aloof  from  the  heaven 
That  to  spirits  untempted  was  given. 

Chorus. 

The  creeds  of  the  past  that  have  bound  us, 
With  visions  of  terror  aroimd  us 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  221 

Like  dungeons  of  stone  that  have  crumbled, 
Beneath  us  lie  shattered  and  humbled. 
The  tyranny  mitred  and  crested, 
Flattered  and  crowned  and  detested ; 
The  blindness  that  trod  upon  Science  ; 

The  bigotry  Ignorance  cherished  ; 
The  armed  and  the  sainted  alliance 

Of  conscience  and  hate  —  they  have  perished, 
Have  melted  like  mists  in  the  splendor 

Of  life  and  of  beauty  supernal  — 
Of  love  ever  watchful  and  tender, 

Of  law  ever  one  and  eternal. 

Song  of  a  "Wise  Spikit. 

The  light  of  central  suns  o'erflows 

The  unknown  bounds  of  time  and  space. 
The  shadows  are  but  passing  shows 

And  clouds  ujion  Creation's  face. 
From  out  the  chaos  and  the  slime, 

From  out  the  whirling  winds  of  fire, 
From  years  of  ignorance  and  crime, 

From  centuries  of  wild  desire, 
The  shaping  laws  of  truth  and  love 

Shall  lift  the  savage  from  the  clod ; 
Shall  till  the  field  and  gild  the  grove 

"With  homes  of  man  and  domes  of  God. 
And  Love  and  Science,  side  by  side. 

With  starry  lamps  of  heavenly  flame, 


222  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Shall  light  the  darkness  far  and  wide  ; 

The  wandering  outcast  shall  reclaim  ; 
Shall  bury  in  forgotten  graves 

Blind  Stiperstition's  tyrant  brood  ; 
Shall  break  the  fetters  of  the  slaves  ; 

Shall  bind  the  world  in  brotherhood  ; 
Shall  hurl  all  despots  from  the  throne, 

And  lift  the  saviors  of  the  race  ; 
And  law  and  liberty  alone 

From  sea  to  sea  the  lands  embrace. 

Hymn  of  a  Devout  Spirit. 

The  time  shall  come  when  men  no  more 

Shall  deem  the  sin  that  taints  the  earth 
A  demon-spell  —  a  monstrous  birth  — 

A  curse  forever  to  endure  ;  — 

Shall  see  that  from  one  common  root 

Must  spring  the  better  and  the  worse ; 
And  seek  to  cure,  before  they  curse, 

The  tree  that  drops  its  wormy  fruit. 

For  God  must  love,  though  man  should  hate 
The  vine  whose  mildew  blights  its  grapes  ; 
Shall  he  not  clothe  with  fairer  shapes 

The  lives  deformed  by  earthly  fate  ? 

O  praise  him  not  that  on  a  throne 
Of  glory  unapproached  he  sits, 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  223 

For  deem  a  slavish  fear  befits 
The  cliild  a  father  calls  his  own.  . 

But  praise  him  that  in  every  thrill 
Of  life  his  breath  is  in  our  lungs, 
And  moves  our  hearts  and  tunes  our  tongues, 

Howe'er  rebellious  to  his  will. 

Praise  him  that  all  alike  drink  in 

A  portion  of  the  life  divine, 

A  light  whose  struggling  soul-beams  shine 
Through  all  the  blinding  mists  of  sin. 

For  sooner  shall  the  embracing  day, 
The  air  that  folds  us  in  its  arms, 
The  morning  sun  that  cheers  and  warms, 

Hold  back  their  service,  and  decay, 

Ere  God,  who  wraps  the  Universe 

With  love,  shall  let  the  souls  he  made 
Fall  from  his  omnipresent  aid 

O'ershadowed  by  a  human  curse. 

SoNO  OF  AN  Evolutionist. 
1. 

All  in  its  turn  is  good 

And  suited  to  its  time  ; 
Fire-mist  and  cosmic  flood, 


224  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Ice,  rock,  and  ocean  slime  ; 
Savage  and  Druid  stern, 

Faith  typed  in  legends  wild. 
The  mills  of  God  still  turn  ; 

Order  is  Discord's  child. 
Ever  from  worse  to  better 
Breaks  Nature  through  her  fetter  — 
The  spirit  through  the  letter. 
One  vast  divine  endeavor. 

One  purpose  still  pursued  — 
Upward  and  onward  ever  — 

All  in  its  turn  is  good. 

2. 

Up  from  the  centre  striving 

Through  countless  change  on  change, 

Through  shapes  uncouth  and  strange  ■ 
The  weakest  doomed  to  perish  — 

The  strongest  still  surviving ; 

Purpose  divine  in  all. 

Whether  they  rise  or  fall 
Pledged  to  maintain  and  cherish 

Types  higher  still  and  higher, 

To  struggle  and  aspire. 
One  vast  divine  endeavor 
Upward  and  onward  ever  — 
Through  fish  and  bird  and  beast  — 
Power  that  hath  never  ceased  — 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  225 

Through  darkness  and  through  light  — 
Through  ape  and  troglodyte, 
Till  best  with  best  unite  ; 
Through  melancholy  wastes 

Of  unknown  time  and  space  -~ 
A  power  that  never  hastes, 

And  never  slackens  pace 

Until  the  human  face, 

Until  the  human  form 

Beautiful,  and  swift  and  warm, 

Awaits  the  crowning  hour. 

And  blooms  —  a  spirit-flower  — 

Upward  and  onward  ever 

One  primal  plan  pursued. 

All  in  its  turn  is  good. 

SoNO  OF  AN  Old  Poet. 

I  sang  of  Eden  and  Creation's  morn  ; 

Of  fiend  and  angel,  triumph  and  despair. 

I  caught  the  world's  old  music  in  the  air  — 
The  strains  that  from  a  people's  creed  were  born. 

I  soared  with  seraphs,  walked  with  lords  of  doom  ; 

Basked  in  the  sun  and  groped  in  utter  dark. 

I  lit  the  olden  legends  with  a  spark 
Whose  radiance  but  revealed  eternal  gloom. 

I  stood  envelojjed  in  a  cloud  o'ercharged 

With  thunder  ;  and  the  blind  mad  bolts  that  flew 


226  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Were  heaven's  decrees.     They  spared  alone  the  few 
Whose  hearts  by  grace  supernal  were  enlarged. 

Upon  imagination's  star-lit  wings 

I  flew  beyond  the  steadfast  earth's  supports, 
And  stood  within  Jehovah's  shining  courts, 

And  heard  what  seemed  the  murmur  of  the  springs. 

The  streams  of  living  and  eternal  youth. 
Was  it  a  dream  ?     Hath  God  another  Word 
Than  that  between  the  Cherubim  we  heard 

When  Israel  served  the  Lord  with  zeal  and  truth  ? 

Are  those  but  earthborn  shadows  that  we  saw 
Thronging  the  spaces  of  the  heavens  and  hells  ? 
Is  there  a  newer  prophet-voice  that  tells 

The  trumpet-tidings  of  a  grander  law? 

The  lurid  words  above  the  fatal  door  — 
The  door  itself  —  the  circles  of  despair 
Are  fast  dissolving  in  serener  air. 

They  were  but  dreams.     They  can  return  no  more. 

No  more  tlie  vengeance  of  a  demon-god  ; 

No  more  the  lost  souls  whirling  in  black  drifts 
Of  endless  pain.     The  wind  of  morning  lifts 

The  fog  where  once  our  groping  footsteps  trod. 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN.  227 

I  looked,  and  lo  !  the  Abyss  was  all  ablaze 
With  light  of  heaven,  and  not  abysmal  fire  ; 
And  fain  would  tune  to  other  chords  my  lyre ; 

And  fain  would  sing  the  alternate  nights  and  days  — 

The  days  and  nights  that  are  the  wings  of  Time ; 

The  love  that  melts  away  the  eternal  chains  ; 

The  judgments  only  of  remedial  pains  ; 
The  hidden  innocence  in  guilt  and  crime. 

The  sunlight  on  the  illumined  tracts  of  earth 

Sprang  from  the  darkness,  pale  and  undiscerned. 
And  the  great  creeds  the  world  hath  slowly  learned 

Are  truths  evolved  from  forms  of  ruder  birth. 

The  tides  of  life,  divine  and  human,  swell 

And  flood  the  desert  shore,  the  stagnant  pool. 
And  sage  and  poet  know,  where  God  hath  rule 

There  is  no  cloud  in  heaven  —  no  doom  in  hell. 


Full  Chorus  op  the  Planetary  Spirits. 

1. 

Hear  ye,  0  brothers,  the  voices  around  that  are  swelling 
in  chorus  ? 
Nearer  and   sweeter  they  rise  and  fall  through   the 
nebulous  lisfht : 


228  ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN. 

Voices  of  sages  and  prophets  —  while  under  our  footsteps 
and  o'er  us 
Roll  in   their    orbits    the   worlds   whose   circles   we 
tracked  through  the  night. 

2. 

Melting  away  in  the  morning,  we  follow  their  pathways 
no  longer, 
Kiiowing  the  hand  that  has  guided  will  bear  them 
forever  along ; 
Bear  them  forever,  and  shape  them  to  destinies  fairer 
and  stronger 
Than  when  the  joyous  archangels  hailed  their  creation 
with  song. 

3. 

Not  with  a  light  that  is  waning  —  not  with  the  curse  of 
a  dooming,  • 
They  shall  accomplish  their  cycles  through  ages  of 
fire  and  of  cloud  : 
Ever  from  their  chaos  to  order  unfolding,  progressing, 
and  blooming, 
Till   with   the  wisdom  and  beauty  of  ages  on  ages 
endowed. 

4. 

Out  of  the  regions  of  discord,  out  of  the  kingdoms  of 
evil. 


ORMUZD  AND  AHRIMAN  229 

God  in  the  races  to  come  shall  abolish  the  reign  of 

despair. 
Who  shall  confront  his  decrees  with  the  phantoms  of 

demon  and  devil  ? 
Who  shall  unhallow  the  joy  of  his  light  and  the  health 

of  his  air  ? 


Lo  !  on  the  day-star  itself  there  are  spots  that,  coming 
and  going, 
Send  through  the    spaces   mysterious   thrlllings  like 
omens  of  blight. 
And  the  great  planets  afar  are  convulsed,  as  when  winter 
comes  blowing 
Over  the  shuddering  oceans  and  islands  of  tropical 
light. 

6. 

Shadows  are  shadows  ;  and  all  that  is  made  is  illumined 
and  shaded,  — 
Bound  by  the  laws  of  its  being  —  heaven  and  earth 
in  its  breath. 
He  who  hath  made  us  vsdll  lift  us,  though  stained  and 
deformed  and  degraded  — 
Lift  us  and  love  us,  though  drowned  in  the  surges 
of  darkness  and  death. 


A  POET'S  SOLILOQUY. 

On  a  time  —  not  of  old  — 
When  a  poet  had  sent  out  his  soul  and  no  welcome  had 

found 
Where  the  heart  of  the  nation  in  prose  stood  fettered 

and  bound 
In  fold  upon  fold  — 
He  called  back  his  soul  who  had  pined  for  an  answer 

afloat ; 
And  thus  in  the  silence  of  night  and  the  pride  of  his 

spirit  he  wrote. 

Come  back,  poet-thought ! 
For  they  honor  thee  not  in  thy  vesture  of  verse  and  of 

song. 
Come  back  —  thou  hast  hovered  about  in  the  market  too 

long. 
In  vain  thou  hast  sought 
To  stem  the  strong  current  that  flows  from  the  Philistine 

lands. 
Thou  hast  failed   to  deliver  the  message  the  practical 

public  demands. 


A  POET'S  SOLILOQUY.  231 

Come  back  to  the  heights 
Of  thy  vision  —  thy  love  —  thy  Parnassus  of  beauty  and 

truth, 
From  the  valleys  below  where  the  labor  of  age  and  of 

youth 
Has  no  need  of  thy  lights  ; 
For  science  has  marshalled  the  way  with  a  lamp  of  its 

own. 
Till  they  woo  thee  with  wakening  love  tliou  must  follow 

thy  pathway  alone. 

We  have  striven,  have  toiled. 
Have  pressed  with  the  foremost  to  sing  to  the  men  of 

our  time 
The  thought  that  was  deepest,  the  lay  that  was  Ughtest 
in  rhyme. 
We  are  baffled  and  foiled. 
The  crowd  hurries  on  intent  upon  traffic  and  pay ; 
They  have  ears,  but  they  hear  not.     What  chance  to  be 
heard  has  the  poet  to-day  ? 

So  we  turn  from  the  crowd, 
And  we  sing  as  we  please,  like  the  thrush  far  away  in 

the  woods. 
They  may  listen  or  not,  as  they  choose,  to  our  fancies 
and  moods 
Chanted  low  —  chanted  loud, 


232  A  POETS  SOLILOQUY. 

In  the  sunshine  and  storm  —  'mid  the  hearts  that  are 

tender  or  hard. 
What  need  of  applause  from  the  world,  when  Art  is  its 

own  reward? 


'^UE  on  the  la<t 


HChA  Li: 


<f         3  1 


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